


Ground Rules

by TuppingLiberty



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety over Money, Blow Jobs, Childhood Friends, Demisexual Character, Depression, Enthusiastic Consent, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, HIV Positive Character, HIV/AIDS, Happily Ever After, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Insurance Fraud, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Panic Attacks, Period being the late '90s, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Prescription Medication, Rimming, Safer Sex, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, artist, meddling elders, money issues, realtor, sex negotiations, versatile characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 53,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Mark Peterson has had enough of relationships. After a cheating ex left him with HIV on top of trust issues, he’s focused on his work--until his Nana is injured. As a freelancer, he can work from anywhere, so moving back to his hometown to care for her makes sense. Even if it means returning to the place where he was bullied for his sexuality.Brent Henner is lonely, depressed, and tired of being told he needs to get married if he wants to stay on the town advisory board. A childhood left watching his father fail at one marriage after another soured him on the whole idea of matrimony, but he didn’t count on his childhood best friend returning to town, twenty years after they drifted apart.A marriage of convenience is a neat solution to Mark’s lack of health insurance and Brent’s social issues--and rubbing a gay marriage in their childhood bullies’ faces is a nice bonus. There are just two problems: Mark’s been in love with Brent since they were children and pretending to be married to a man is making Brent question everything he thought he ever knew about his sexuality.Ground Rules is a completely written 50k novel and will update on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.
Relationships: Mark Peterson/Brent Henner, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 148
Kudos: 105





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ground Rules is the closest I have ever gotten to publishing one of my original works. I just could never pull the trigger. I think I've decided that I'd rather post to ao3 for the moment.
> 
> As such, it's a bit more typical-published-romancey and does not involve kink, although it has some very lovely vanilla smut. Still, I know some of you guys are here for my kink stuff, and while it's not in this story, I do hope you'll enjoy it. 
> 
> Also thank you very much to Dizzy_Redhead for writing the blurb!

Brent winces as the cold, hard surface of the ice pack presses against his abused face. 

“Sorry,” Mark mumbles, taking the ice pack back just as quickly, but Brent reaches up, taking it from him and pressing it again, working through the pain. 

“No, it’s okay. It just stings.” 

“Dude.  _ Dude.” _

This time, Brent winces internally. “On a scale of one-to-ten, how likely is it that you won’t report this?” 

“Extremely unlikely. I'd call it a zero.” Mark frowns, his arms folding over his skinny chest. “I could have at least come for  _ backup.”  _

Brent has a lot of things he could say to that, the foremost being that when a guy finds out his best friend is going to get jumped after school just for being gay, the guy  _ doesn’t _ just sit around and invite the friend to his own execution. 

No, instead, he sends the friend on a wild goose-chase for a missing science notebook and faces off against the attackers alone. Besides, once Steve and John had realized Mark wasn’t going to show up, they’d gone easy on Brent - he had his last name to protect him, after all. 

Brent Henner, Sr., of Henner Realty, is an important man in the small mountain town of Havenwood. Nestled in the Oregon Cascades foothills, just a few miles from Timberline Lodge at Mt. Hood, Havenwood is a popular tourist destination for all seasons, and Brent Henner owns the most rental cabins in the whole area. The ‘Henner Mansion’ is a local point of interest, though Brent’s dad tends to feign humility about it.  _ Oh, no, no, not a mansion, just a nice two level, 4 bed, 2.5 bath with an ensuite master bath Ranch-style, very humble, let me give you my builder’s information, I have a nice piece of property by Haven Lake... _

Despite this, Brent doesn’t often feel inclined to pull out the “do you know who my father is?” line of defense, but when it comes to protecting Mark, he’ll do damn near anything. 

“It’s fine,” Brent mutters, trying not to wince again as Mark slowly dabs at the blood from the cut on his cheek. 

“I’d feel better if Nana checked you out.” 

There’s a stubborn set to Mark’s jaw that Brent recognizes, so he figures he’s not going to get around this one. “Yeah, sure. We can do that. Just give me a few minutes, okay?” 

He settles into one of the kitchen chairs - they have the huge Henner house all to themselves right now because his dad is between wives. Dad won’t be home for hours anyway, so Brent nods to the chair next to him and watches as Mark sits and fiddles with the tablecloth. It’s stupidly fancy for a kitchen table, Brent thinks, but it fits with the rest of the house in making Brent feel like he’s living in one of Dad’s model houses and not an actual  _ home. _ Not like the Petersons’ place. Mark lives with his mom and his nana. At one point, high off of watching  _ The Parent Trap _ for the first time, Brent had entertained the idea of his dad marrying Mark’s mom so they could be genuine brothers. Mrs. Peterson - she always tells him to call her Lisa, though - had laughed politely at his suggestion. It had taken a few more years to understand exactly how much better Lisa was than his father. In his mind, they don’t even exist on the same  _ plane. _

The throbbing around his black eye starts to feel better with the numbing ice. “I don’t think anything’s broken.” 

“Nana’ll be the judge of that,” Mark says stubbornly, expression still stormy. It’s surprising, because Mark is normally really good at hiding his emotions.  _ Brent’s _ the one that’s always getting in trouble for being too sensitive, as his dad puts it. 

“Of course,” Brent soothes, but the tone has the opposite effect, maybe because Brent’s not used to having to soothe Mark. Instead of calming, Mark flies out of his chair. 

“They can’t  _ do  _ this. It’s 1999 for fuck’s sake!” Mark yells, eyes looking wild. They’re both a little shocked at the F bomb drop. “There are bigger things to worry about than if I touched John’s butt or not - which by the way,  _ I didn’t.” _

“I know, Markie. I know you didn’t.” When Mark explodes, Brent tends to go soft. Sometimes it works to diffuse Mark’s anger, and sometimes it doesn’t. Because it looks like Mark wants to continue, Brent pulls out his last stop, humor. “I mean, have you seen John’s butt? Definitely not cute.” 

Mark snorts, though he’s still frowning. “Like you’d know.” 

Brent shrugs. “Butts is butts is butts.” 

Now Mark actually laughs, and his anger seems to calm. A silence falls between them, before Mark straightens, looking at the microwave clock. “Come on, Nana’ll be home by now.” 

He picks up the simple notebook he keeps for sketching. Last Christmas, Brent had bought him one of those fancy leather bound sketchbooks with heavy paper, but Mark never takes it to school. It has a reverent spot next to Mark’s bed. Brent knows he’s trying to conserve the nice paper for ‘really good drawings.’ 

It’s only a ten minute bike ride through back country roads to get from the Henner Mansion to Mark’s place, but Brent’s face is already aching again by the time they get there. He tries to keep from grimacing as Nana Peterson uses strong hands to turn his face this way and that, inspecting it with a frown. 

She’s still wearing scrubs from her shift down at the health clinic in Sandy, deep plum ones that draw out the silver in her brown hair. “Nothing’s broken,” she determines, and it takes everything Brent has not to turn to Mark and stick out his tongue. To his side, he sees Mark slump a little in relief, anyway, so saying ‘I told you so’ doesn’t seem exactly appropriate. 

She places two ibuprofen and a glass of water in front of him, watches eagle-eyed as he takes the pills and drinks the rest of the water, then sends him off with a bag of peas to the living room to watch TV with Mark. 

They very carefully don’t talk about what happened, not with Nana around, though Brent’s fairly sure that Mark will end up telling her and Lisa everything. 

“Are you staying for dinner, Brent?” Nana asks from the kitchen a half-hour later, pots and pans banging. 

“Yes, Nana,” Brent calls back. 

“Did you ask your father?”

Brent thinks about the scribbled note he’d left on the kitchen counter - though he doubts Dad will actually notice or read it. “Yes, Nana.” 

It’s mostly not a fib. 

“Then you two better get in here and help out if we want this ready when your mama gets home, Mark.” 

It’s a tone that brooks no argument, but Mark and Brent aren’t planning on giving her any, anyway. Mark turns off the syndicated rerun of Fraser they’d been mindlessly sitting through in order to get to the Simpsons, and soon they’re helping chop veggies for a salad. 

When she gets home, Lisa takes one look at Brent’s bruised face, shares one of those adults-are-talking-without-talking looks with Nana, and then kisses Mark on the cheek and pats Brent’s hand. They eat dinner around the dining table, the TV off but the conversation is still lively in a way that makes Brent feel warmth deep in his chest. 

Even though it’s May, it’s dark enough by the time they finish with dishes and homework that Lisa insists on tucking his bike into the back of her car and driving him the five minutes home. “It’s hard for cars to see you at this time of night,” she excuses, just like she does every time, and Brent’s learned not to protest. 

What he’s not expecting, though, is for Lisa to turn around the corner from her house and then stop the car on the side of the road. “How did you get the black eye, Brent?” she asks gently. 

He should’ve known he’d gotten out of there too easily. He tries to shrug with nonchalance. “Just messing around with kids.” 

“It wasn’t a fight?”

“I promise. Just messing around. You know how boys are.” 

It sounds weak, even to him, but Lisa doesn’t press. Her eyes drift to the rearview, like she’s looking back at her house. “I know.”

Lisa sighs, pursing her lips together. She looks disappointed, and Brent’s heart lurches. He’d rather die than have Lisa Peterson disappointed in him. But if he tells, and things get worse for Mark, he’d never forgive himself.  _ She’d _ never forgive him. 

So he doesn’t say anything else. And after another ten seconds or so, she starts the car again, and stays silent until she says goodnight to him at his dark house. 

He stashes his bike out of the way, where he’s supposed to, and lets himself in the back door with a key. He can tell from the oppressive silence that there’s no one else in the house. Dad’s probably still working, or maybe sleeping at work, or maybe he’s off in Portland trying to find his next wife, it’s hard to say. It’s not like Brent’s unused to having an empty house. 

The following Saturday, there’s a frantic knocking on the back door, so he drops his Playstation controller, hoping it’s Mark. He smiles, then winces because smiling still hurts his face, because yes, that’s Mark’s silhouette coming through the lace curtain covering the glass door. Brent opens it without checking, already ready to tell Mark to come join him on his latest play through of Silent Hill. 

He stops with his mouth already open, though, at the way Mark’s face is flushed red with tears, the way his brown hair is sticking up in spikes around his head like he’s been pulling at it. Mark  _ never _ cries. 

“What’s wrong?” He immediately opens his arms to pull Mark in for a hug.  _ Is it Nana? Lisa?  _ He can’t bring himself to ask his best friend, though. Mark just shakes, clinging to him, the cool spring breeze rustling the lace curtains. 

Eventually Mark quiets, pulling back and swiping at his eyes, obviously embarrassed that he cried all over Brent’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

Brent waves that aside, shaking his head. “What’s wrong?”

“M-mom’s- I- we’re  _ moving.”  _

“Moving? To where, Sandy?” That seems reasonable, given that Nana works there. Sure, it’ll suck not to be able to see Mark so easily, but they’ll still be attending Sandy High School together as freshmen next year, and maybe this is how Mark finally convinces his dad that he needs his own phone line in his bedroom. 

“To  _ San Diego.” _

_ “What?!” _ Brent knows his mouth is hanging open. “What, to live with your cousins?” 

Mark nods, his eyes streaming again. “Mom- mom got really upset when she found out- I mean, I had to tell her, Brent, I  _ had to, _ and then she went to the school, and they refused to do anything because it didn’t happen on school grounds- and- and then she spent like an hour on the phone with Aunt Deb and when she was done she told me and Nana that we’re moving to San Diego.” 

Brent feels a little like he can’t catch a breath, so he sits down in one of the kitchen chairs, and Mark sits next to him, and it’s all like Wednesday afternoon when Mark had been tending his wounds. Or one of the other million times Brent and Mark have sat at this very kitchen table. “But…” Brent trails off, mind reeling, unsure of what to say. 

“She said - Brent, she was  _ crying _ and she said how she doesn’t want me to be the next Matthew Shepherd, and so we have to  _ move.” _

“Matthew Shepherd?” Brent asks, but Mark’s already moving on. 

“As soon as the school year’s over, we’re packing up. Aunt Deb agreed to pass out her resume for her.” 

_ As soon as the school year’s over...in two weeks?! _ “No, that’s too- she can’t  _ do _ that.” 

Mark lifts up one of his skinny shoulders in a shrug. “I can’t stop her.” 

“Is Nana- what did Nana say?” 

“Nana’s staying.” Mark shakes his head. “It was basically her idea. They kept saying that they want me to feel safe.” 

_ “I’ll _ protect you. I  _ do _ protect you.” 

Mark’s eyes scrape over Brent’s bruises. “Yeah. And that’s doing real great things for your life, too.” 

The sarcasm cuts, but Brent ignores it. “Whatever. I’d do it again. Anytime. I’ll make sure you’re never alone, I’ll be your bodyguard, we’ll use my father’s name as a shield.” 

Hope lights up Mark’s hazel eyes. “I- I mean. Maybe if we both go to my mom…” 

“She’s home right now?”

Mark nods, and it’s enough to get them both moving to their bikes. Brent’s not sure they’ve ever ridden the path between their houses faster. 

They rush inside, flush with excitement, with a plan, only to stop short against the wall that is Lisa Peterson’s determination. She holds up her hand to stop their chatter. 

"Absolutely not. Absolutely  _ not.” _ She takes a deep breath, then continues packing a box of her clothing. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Petersons don’t use human shields, Mark.” 

Brent frowns. “But I’m saying it’s okay-”

“It’s  _ not _ okay, boys. None of this is okay. And until this- this shithole town can promise it’ll protect my son, it’s not going to  _ be _ okay.” Her hands are shaking as she folds a pair of jeans. “I’m sorry for my language. Mark, I put some boxes in your room. I need you to go start packing, too.” 

Brent feels frozen, but Mark reacts right away, turning on his heel. A few seconds later, Brent winces as the door to Mark’s room slams shut, shaking the house. He realizes his mouth is hanging open, and he shuts it deliberately, not sure what to do next. 

Lisa sighs, running her hand over his short cropped hair and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I’m grateful for what you did for my son, Brent. I can’t ask you to do it again.” 

“I’d do it happily, though- I’d- he’s-” But Brent can’t make the sentence work, and Lisa’s shaking her head at him. 

Numb, he shuffles out of her room and down to Mark’s. He knocks on the door tentatively. “It’s me, Markie.” 

“Come in.” 

He opens the door and finds Mark sitting on his bed, his notebook laying on his lap. When Brent comes to join him, he can see Mark’s looking at one of the letters they’d sent each other in the secret code they’d developed for themselves in fourth grade. 

“This is the one where you told me you thought Sarah V. was cute,” Mark says with a small smile. 

“I can’t believe you still know how to read it.” 

Mark shrugs, and Brent wraps his arms around him in a hug. 

“I’m never going to stop protecting you, Mark. I promise. Even if you’re a million miles away in San Diego.” 

“It’s more like a thousand, I think. Mom made me keep track to practice my math that time we drove down a few summers ago.” 

“A thousand miles away, then.”

“It’d-” Mark’s voice is very small. “It’d probably be nice to not have to protect me, though, huh?”

Brent pulls back, shocked. “What? No. Not if it means you’re going away.” 

But Mark’s not looking at him, and he’s made himself look even smaller, hunching over like he’s trying to disappear from view, and it all makes Brent think about how selfish he’s being. About how Mark’s the one who’s got to be scared, even if Brent’s the one that took the hits. 

“You’re right,” he whispers, and Mark looks back at him, eyes streaming. “It’s nice to not be scared. You deserve that feeling.” 

He can’t stand to look at the devastation on Mark’s face anymore, so he hops up off the bed and goes to the pile of boxes that need to be folded into the right shape. He struggles through the instructions for making one, letting the process distract him, but by the time he’s working on the second one, Mark’s there by his side, helping him. 

Mark knocks on Brent’s backdoor for what might be the last time in a long time. His mom had taken pity on him, sent him off as soon as the movers came to spend his last hours here in Havenwood with his best friend. 

Brent opens the door already looking miserable. At least the bruising on his face has faded, the cheek cut healed into a little pink line that hopefully won’t scar. Mark smiles to himself. If it does scar, it’ll only serve to make Brent Henner even more the Most Attractive Boy in their grade. 

Then again, Mark’s probably biased.

He pulls Brent into a hug, and Brent steps outside, closing the door behind him. “My dad’s home,” he offers as an explanation. 

Mark’s known Brent for over ten years, and he can count on two hands the amount of times he’s actually interacted with Brent’s father. Mark has always gotten the impression that Brent is extremely uncomfortable around his dad, like he doesn’t know how to be Brent and the Henner son at the same time. 

Brent leads him silently out the back, through the manicured parts of the garden to the actual woods. They used to have a pretty sweet set up out here, back when they’d been more about hanging out outdoors and less about video games. Still, Mark’s not surprised when he comes around Brent to find the hammock covered in pillows and blankets, so they can make a comfy time of however long they have left. 

When they’re settled in, shoulder to shoulder, the light blanket protecting against the springtime cold of the Cascades foothills, Brent finally talks. “I meant what I said, Mark.” 

“Hmm?” It’s hard for Mark like this, being this close to Brent’s warm body, the woodsy smell of his deodorant. 

Brent goes up to his elbow so he can look down at Mark, the hammock swaying a little with the motion. “I’ll protect you, always, okay?” 

If Mark wasn’t already so sad, he’d say this is the moment little gay dreams are made of. Instead, though, he sighs, looking away.

“Hey.” Brent, as always, demands his attention. “No matter what. If someone is giving you- shit- in San Diego, just- just call me, or email me, and I’ll figure out a way to help, okay?” 

Mark’s heart stutters over how Brent stumbles over the cuss word,  _ still.  _ Even though he’s nearly fourteen. “Okay,” he promises, because he knows Brent won’t let it go. 

“I wish- I wish- if gay marriage were legal, that’s what I’d do, you know. Give you my name. Protect you forever.” 

Mark freezes, looking up at his best friend. “That’s-”  _ silly. _ He can’t quite bring himself to say it, though, so he leans into it, laughing at the fierce expression on Brent’s face. “Pinky-swear it, then.” He holds out his pinky, expectant. 

Brent’s eyes are oddly serious, though, as he takes Mark’s pinky in his own. “I swear that the moment it becomes legal to marry you, I’ll do it.” He shakes Mark’s pinky. 

“But-” Mark sputters, then smiles, still trying to make it silly. “Okay. But you’ll probably have a lovely wife and children by then.” 

This statement actually makes Brent hesitate for a second, but then he shrugs, his pinky tightening down on Mark’s. “So, if I don’t, then. And if you’re not, you know, happily with a, um.” 

“Boyfriend,” Mark supplies. 

“Right.” Brent blushes. “Sorry.” 

“So, to sum up, if, at some unknown number of years in the future, gay marriage actually gets legalized, and  _ if _ I don’t have a boyfriend and  _ if _ you aren’t married with 2.5 babies and a dog, you’ll marry me, just to give me the protection of your name.” 

“Exactly.” Brent shakes his pinky again. “Besides, you’re my best friend. That’s a way better starting point than most of my father’s marriages.” 

Mark grimaces as their pinkies break apart. “And how is Melanie adjusting?” 

Brent looks in the direction of his house and shrugs. “They seem to be...having fun.” 

_ For now _ goes left unsaid. 

Brent rides with him back to his place - well, not his place for much longer. The movers pack Mark’s bike into the back of the moving truck, and they all watch it take off, rumbling through the streets. When it’s out of sight, Lisa claps her hands together a little as if to break the silence, and turns to hug her mother. 

Mark takes the chance to pull Brent into his arms for one last, long hug. All too soon, they’re breaking apart, and his mom is hugging Brent, and he’s hugging Nana, and then they’re packed into the car to follow the moving truck at a bit of a slower pace. 

And then they’re pulling away, and all Mark can see of Brent is he and Nana waving at them in the rearview mirror, Brent tucked up against Nana’s side, his eyes shiny and red. 

“It’ll be okay,” Mom says, and Mark wonders if it’s a reassurance for him or herself more. It doesn’t matter so much, though, when she moves her hand across the center console and grips his. 

Squeezing her fingers, he watches Brent and Nana until they turn the corner, then closes his eyes. 

Maybe, maybe now he can get over his decade-long crush on Brent Henner. That would be a silver lining.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All grown up, Brent's life is....not so great.

“And initial here and here, and this one last signature, perfect, Ms. Hernandez.” Brent gives Elisa Hernandez his most professional smile as she bounces a little in her seat with excitement. “You are officially a homeowner.” 

“I- just- can I just-” Elisa does a cute little victory dance in her seat. “Okay, I just had to get that out of my system.” 

Brent laughs good-naturedly; closing would definitely be one of his favorite parts of the job, hands-down. A job he’d never thought he’d take on, sure, but he supposes he’s grown into now. It’s the family business, after all. “Don’t worry, everyone does that.” 

“You’re just saying that because you’re nice,” Elisa replies with a laugh, slipping her purse strap over her shoulder and standing. “Well, I guess I have some moving to do!” 

“You certainly do! And as a small token of our appreciation here at Henner Realty, I just wanted to give you this gift certificate to Haven Hardware. I’m sure you’ll be able to spend it easily.” As Brent stands, he holds out a card for her, a standard closing gift. 

Elisa’s eyes light up as she takes it and thanks him again. “Can I- Can I hug you? I’m just so excited. I can’t wait to tell my dad.” 

“Sure,” Brent agrees, though he keeps it professional by giving her a side-hug before starting to walk her out of the office.

“Maybe, um. Maybe when I get everything settled in, I could have a dinner party. Invite some guests over.” Elisa’s eyes are warm on his as they cross the lobby. “Don’t you think that would be fun?” 

It’s not hard to keep his face the neutral, bland customer service mask that he tends to think of as his realtor face while he holds open the door for her. “I think your friends would enjoy that. Careful here, this part of the sidewalk doesn’t get sun at all during the day, it’s still a little slick.” He reaches out a hand to steady her elbow as she makes her way to the car. 

“Thanks again, Brent. This has been- you just made the process so easy!”

“Can I quote you on that for the billboard?”

Elisa laughs, shaking her head as she closes her car door. Brent stays for a few extra seconds before walking back into the office. 

“She was flirting with you, you know.” 

Reenie Henner, one of Dad’s many ex-wives, looks up from her computer to point this out as Brent walks back to his office. He pauses at her desk and she quirks a dyed auburn eyebrow at him expertly. 

“I know she was,” Brent can’t help answering defensively. Reenie is by far the best thing that ever came out of his dad’s many marriages; he doesn’t remember what number she is, but she’d been there through most of his high school years and the divorce had been amicable enough that she’d convinced Dad to let her keep working at the business. Which makes Reenie just about the closest thing to a mom Brent has, which means she doesn’t lay off on the nagging about his own relationships. “I’m busy.”

“Oh, really? You’re all booked up with hot dates, hmm?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

She just raises her eyebrow again, as if she knows that’s a lie. “Elisa’s nice.  _ And _ pretty. You don’t always get both in the same package, you know.” With a few clicks on her keyboard, her computer powers down; Brent always tries to get them out of the office before six on Friday evenings. 

“She is very nice. And very pretty.” Brent closes his office door and begins locking down everything else. 

“You should give her a call!”

She’s finally not looking at him, so he indulges in rolling his eyes. Sometimes Reenie makes him feel like a teenager all over again. 

“Not this week, Reenie.” He tries to put just enough exhaustion into his voice to get her to lay off, but it doesn’t work. 

“Oh? So that means you’re going to call her next week?” 

Brent frowns as he holds the door open for Reenie, then locks it behind them. 

She threads her arm through Brent’s to take his help down the icy sidewalk, a move that’s habit on both their parts at this point. He’d had it cleared earlier, but the darkness has frozen it over again. He’s wearing traction boots himself, but he’s happy to lend the older woman a hand. 

“I can’t just abuse the fact that I have access to her private information by calling her for a personal matter. It’d be grossly unprofessional.” 

Reenie purses her lips, and Brent has an idea of exactly what she’s thinking, but won’t say: 

_ Your father wouldn’t have cared. _

Who knows how many women Brent Henner, Sr., had pursued that way, which makes him feel sick to his stomach. He clings to the feeling, because while he may still live in his father’s house, and run his father’s business, he has to hope that there’s enough of  _ something else _ in him to make him better than Brent Sr. 

“So...go to the Lodge. Meet a cute girl there. Fall in love. Get me some grandbabies.” 

Leave it to Reenie to very, very carefully not mention marriage. She’s learned her lesson by now, he supposes. Just like he has. The only relationship he’s ever had that got that far blew up in his face ages ago. Leaving marriage out of it is precisely the kind of plan Brent can get behind.

“You already have four grandbabies, Reenie. You’re not allowed to guilt me about not having any yet.” 

Still, the thought of the Lodge, the local bar, is...moderately appealing. Appealing enough to not just crawl into bed the minute he gets home? Of this, he’s not so sure. 

The longing thoughts of his bed and sleep and closing out the world make him run a self-assessment, which leads him to think that maybe he should talk to his doctor about adjusting his antidepressants, or maybe his vitamin D, that always tanks in the winter-

He doesn’t really realize he has zoned out until Reenie gives him a kiss on the cheek to thank him for helping her to her car. Rather, she’s tugging on his shoulder, because she comes up to about his chest on his tall, lanky form. 

He leans down to let her, then opens and closes the car door for her before heading off to his own Subaru with a small parting wave. 

Inside, he taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he tries to decide what he wants to do this cold, wintery Friday night. He waffles between the sweet oblivion of his dark bedroom and the crowded, boisterous atmosphere of The Lodge until he realizes he’s been sitting there indecisive for five minutes. He shakes himself out of it, heading toward town and away from his house. Maybe he's sunk farther into the seasonal depression than he thought earlier if he's losing time to it like this. 

The thing about the parking lot for the bar is that it’s shared with the grocery store. Where it would be very easy for Brent to run inside, grab a frozen pizza, and go home to … play video games or zone out the rest of the evening or something. A lot whole easier than going to the Lodge, putting on his Happy Brent face to say hi to everyone, and, if he didn’t see anyone interesting to talk to, figuring out what the hell to do with himself. 

His feet make the decision for him, guiding him on the familiar path to the grocery store and the even more familiar path to the frozen food aisle. In a town the size of Havenwood, it’s not unusual to see someone you know when you’re shopping, and so Brent’s not surprised that he’s had to stop and have two pleasant conversations before he makes it past Produce. 

Pleasant doesn’t exactly cover the conversation he has near Cleaning Supplies, though. 

“Henner.” 

Brent looks over his shoulder, winces internally, then girds himself for a conversation with eighth grade bully and fellow town advisor, Steve O’Connor. “O’Connor.” 

In an effort to force himself out of the house more often a few years ago, when the depression had been hitting hard, he’d signed himself up for the Havenwood Advisory Board election, and, surprisingly, won. Even more surprisingly, he’s come to cherish his time and work with the board, even if only so  _ someone’s _ there to stand up to Steve O’Connor. Steve wouldn’t care if the whole of the woods got sold off to the highest bidding logging company without even looking at their sustainability plans. Brent’s pretty sure that Steve is one of those people who think that the 1950s were some golden age America needs to get back to, or some bullshit like that. Disgusting.

“Just had to pick up some diapers. You know how it is, new baby at home- oh. Sorry, I forgot.” Steve’s smile is one step shy of a sneer. 

Brent holds himself back from rolling his eyes. “And how are Katrina and little Stephen?” 

“Apple of my eye.” Steve looks him up and down. He’d never managed to catch Brent’s height - hardly anyone in high school had. “Headed home alone?” 

For the life of him, Brent will never understand exactly why Steve knows how to get under his skin. “You’ll make the meeting on Monday, right? We’re discussing our green energy options.” 

This time, Steve’s sneer is evident. “Mhmm. I’m going to have John sit in with me. I want him to get a feel for the vibe. He’s thinking of running next summer. But- oh,” he pauses, deliberately, his grin wolfish, “That’s your chair that’s up next, isn’t it? Well, I guess it’ll be an exciting one. A lot of folks have been talking about how the board needs some more family-oriented voices, what with the new subdivision’s population.” 

Brent smiles with his teeth clenched, a move he often finds himself pulling around Steve. “I wish him the best, then. I’ll, hmm, I’ll let you go, I’m sure the diapers are urgent business.” With the politest little nod he can manage, he turns around and keeps working his way to the pizza. 

He finds himself standing in front of the case, his mind still processing the conversation through a haze of anger and determination. There’s no way in hell he’s letting John put his dirty paws on the advisory board or the fate of Havenwood, just to essentially double Steve’s voting power. He’ll just have to make sure he can compete with the ‘family man’ campaign John’s apparently wanting to run. 

He scowls at the pizza. Even his  _ skin _ feels prickly at the suggestion from two different people tonight that his bachelor life is somehow less fulfilling than anyone else’s. And then all of a sudden the anger turns to bone-deep weariness, as if his depression can’t be bothered with anything like this. His stomach turns, and he realizes he’s not hungry at all. Maybe just some crackers, then, before bed-

“Brent? Brent Henner?” 

He hesitates before turning, mostly because the voice is oddly familiar, but he can’t place it right away, and also because he just really doesn’t want to be disturbed anymore. He wants to buy his freaking pizza, go home to his huge empty house, and spend the weekend in bed. That’s what sounds really freaking nice right now. 

But he turns, because he’s polite, and suddenly his whole countenance changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I could probably write neurotypical characters but...why?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All grown up, Mark's life...could be better.
> 
> Tags added: Money Issues, Anxiety over Money

“Okay, that was really, really important work, folks.” Beside Mark, his co-leader Franci smiles at the circle with her relentless positivity. That’s what she brings, along with a background in counseling. Mark’s less good at the positivity piece, but he can play off of Franci well. 

“Seriously, you guys did a great job today. Be sure to check out the latest U equals U stuff - there’re some posters you can take and fliers if you have a board for that kind of thing at work or on campus.” Mark deliberately smiles at every individual, showing them he sees them. 

A group like this had saved his life when he'd first been diagnosed HIV positive. He'd been so scared, and feeling so hopeless and...dirty. The testing clinic had channeled him into an HIV specialist immediately and he'd been put on antiretroviral therapy right away, but he barely remembers anything about that time beyond being afraid. While the physical part of his diagnosis was dealt with, his mental health had tanked.

It hadn't helped that he'd been going through a break up at the same time. With the chaos of everything, he'd shown up at his mom's apartment one night in complete mental breakdown mode. And she'd listened to everything, and didn't ask a whole lot of questions, and just wrapped Mark up in her warm arms and held him tight. Mark had never felt less like an adult, and yet for the first time since his diagnosis a month earlier, he'd felt like maybe it was going to be okay. 

Some of the people at this meeting have that kind of support, and some don't. Part of what he and Franci do is try and provide that for those that need it. It’s the HIV safety net that saved him, and he’s happy to be a part of now for anyone who needs it. 

“Okay, well, we have more cookies and coffee if you want to stay, folks.” Franci smiles at them as they all stand. 

“Mark?” 

He recognizes the voice as belonging to Luther, a man who'd been diagnosed about a year ago. Mark turns away from grabbing a cup of tea and smiles warmly. “Hey, Luther, what's up?”

Luther’s fidgety, not quite meeting his eyes. “I was wondering, um. How do you present yourself when you're, uh, trying to get back into the dating game?”

Mark grimaces internally. There's a 50/50 chance Luther is either asking because he genuinely wants to know, or because he has a crush on Mark. It would not be the first time the latter has happened, but he still hates dealing with it. 

“Unless you're getting physical with someone, you don't owe anyone your diagnosis, Luther. How much you tell and when is up to you. When you feel you can trust them, maybe.”

Super easy, textbook advice to give. Mark knows because his own therapist had told him that a dozen times, back in the first few years. Back when Mark had actually been trying to get back into the dating game. Back before he’d had three different relationships destruct on him because of his trust issues. His completely valid and totally understandable trust issues, he’d add, if anyone asks. 

Mark looks at Luther again. At least he wouldn't have to go through the mental rigmarole of explaining his diagnosis and how no, he isn't dying of AIDS, if he dated Luther. But dating within the group, especially with the power dynamic of Mark as one of the leaders, is squicky. Best to let Luther down easily.

He calls Franci over with his eyes, then smoothly transitions to her counseling Luther and not himself. With a smile at them, he extricates himself and goes over to promote the posters he’d mentioned earlier. The tea seems a little unappetizing now that he’s been thinking of his past relationship challenges, and he’s trying to decide if he wants it when his cell phone rings, Mom's picture coming up on the screen. 

He frowns. They still live together - rent and health insurance and meds are all a bear to manage, especially in the San Diego area - so she knows he's here tonight, and that he'll be home soon. 

Worried about a possible emergency, he answers. “Mom?”

“I'm sorry for calling, Mark, but- it's Nana.”

Driving the rental car away from the Gresham Hospital - the nearest to Havenwood but thirty minutes away - and getting on the familiar-yet-not Highway 26 is surreal for Mark. His veins are jangling with caffeine and the anxiety of quickly shutting down his San Diego life - or at least putting it on hold for a bit - in order to help Nana out in Havenwood. 

She’d fallen and broken her hip; luckily, she’d had her cell phone on her at the time and had been able to get help right away. The hospital had called Mom as her emergency contact, and explained the necessary surgery and recovery time. There’s simply no way Nana can do it all on her own, and between himself and Mom, he’d been the one elected to come up. After all, his graphics design jobs can be done anywhere he takes his laptop. 

The surgery had gone well and she’d seemed in good spirits at the hospital, though that had partially been the pain meds. But she’d been lucid enough to direct Mark through finding her keys in her purse, and to explain what she needed done at the house - no pets for Mark to take care of, but she has some houseplants that apparently have a very specific watering schedule. She’d also insisted that he head to the house and get off his feet because he looked exhausted, so he’d kissed her on the forehead, talked to the doctors and her senior care case manager, and promised to be back soon.

So, it’s fucking surreal to be driving toward a town he has such bittersweet memories of. He’d lost track of Brent, the only person worth keeping tabs on besides Nana. He doesn’t really remember who sent the last email, but it doesn’t matter. He’s old enough now to understand that friendships fall apart like that more often than they explode, and forgive his past self for it. You just talk to people less and less until not talking becomes more routine than talking. And as a rule, in the Peterson household, unless you’re talking about Nana, you don’t talk about Havenwood. 

Of course Nana fell in the dead of winter, too. Mark learned to drive in San Diego, so he’s fucking nervous about icy roads and snow. It always seems to get dark faster in the mountains because of the tree cover, and it’s already edging that way by the time he pulls off of the highway to head to Nana’s house. 

When he gets out of the car, he glances off to the woods that separated his and Brent’s house back in the day, and wonders if the Henner Mansion is still over there. But then he turns away and gets distracted by Nana’s instructions, and Brent slips his mind completely. 

After he’s taken care of the plants and staked out his old bedroom - mostly converted to a craft room, but Nana kept his old bed in there for guests - he paces the quiet home, trying to figure out exactly what Nana will need in terms of help. Bars, maybe, for the toilet? And then there’s the whole set of stairs leading up to the front door. Will she be in a wheelchair? The doctor had said something about needing to get her moving right away after that type of surgery, but climbing stairs seems like a bit much. 

He chews his thumb as he tries to solve the problem. Maybe they can rent a single-story place for a little bit, or maybe he can get a construction crew out and willing to work on short notice. Then again, Nana’s little home is a rental, and he’s not sure if the landlord - sadly, not Henner Realty, or he’d lean on his old connection there - will let them install the necessary changes. Nana had given him her computer password with instructions on finding her budget, but he’s not optimistic that an elderly woman living off of social security and Medicare will have the money to pay for it. His own work by commission barely covers his insurance and prescription bills - he unfortunately occupies a gray area where he makes enough money not to qualify for low-income HIV meds help, and yet the antiretroviral therapy seems to suck up anything he has left every month.

His stomach roils as he tries to figure it all out, and he ends up going to bed without eating. He falls down face first to the mattress, but worrying about their money situation keeps him up half the night. 

Between visiting Nana, returning the rental car, and figuring out the bus system to get back - luckily there’s a line that runs almost up to Timberline for the city-dwelling snow bunnies - his day is shot. He works on designs for two hours before looking up from the computer and realizing the sun’s already down again. He chews his lip, the worry over finances coming back to him. He’s fairly sure he’s going to have to pick up a part-time job somewhere to make ends meet while Nana recovers. 

Anxious, he realizes that his stomach is grumbling at him. Nothing in the pantry appeals, so he grabs the keys to Nana’s old beat up Subaru hatchback and heads to the store. Tom’s Market is pretty much how he remembers it, too, though there are more signs for organic, non-GMO, gluten-free products than he remembers. That would be the tourist influence, too. He grabs a hand basket, humming to himself as he walks through the store. Though the store is recognizable, none of the people are, and he doesn’t get stopped by anyone looking to catch up on old times, thank God. 

He turns down the frozen food aisle to grab some steamed broccoli bags and casually checks out the tall drink of water standing in front of the frozen pizzas in a completely nondescript way - he hasn’t forgotten what town he’s in, after all, the same town that sent his mother running scared for his life twenty years ago. Mark’s trying to figure out whether the guy’s a local or not - he’s not wearing snow clothes, but what looks like business wear under a Columbia pullover - when he does a complete actual double take at the man’s profile. It’s  _ Brent. _ Brent, who looks like a freaking...NBA player or something, Mark’s never been great with sports. Tall,  _ crazy _ tall now, his silhouette all strong broad shoulders that taper down into a trim but broad waist. It’s a little hard to tell the lines of his body with the pullover, but it’s… well. It’s  _ damn _ worthy, in Mark’s expert opinion. Neatly kept hair, too, reminding Mark of Steve Rogers, a sandy brown. He’s frowning, though, looking pensive as he contemplates the pizza choices, apparently. 

“Brent? Brent Henner?” Mark asks, even though he’s 99% sure of who he’s seeing.

It’s a pleasure to watch Brent’s light brown eyes go from sad and distracted to alive and excited as he turns to him and smiles. “Mark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End the stigma. U = U, mentioned at the meeting at the beginning of the chapter, means "Undetectable = Untransmittable". Find out more here: https://www.sfaf.org/resource-library/u-equals-u/
> 
> Mark ends up in an insurance situation in this story where he's going to need Brent's help to pay for his meds. Anti-retroviral Therapy is expensive, but there are lots of foundations and places to help you pay. I'm bending the rules of reality for the story. Payment help information can be found here: https://aidsinfo.nih.gov/guidelines/html/1/adult-and-adolescent-arv/459/cost-considerations-and-antiretroviral-therapy
> 
> Above all, the stigma of HIV is what helps the spread of HIV. End the stigma.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brent and Mark have a happy reunion.

“Mark?” Brent squints at the man standing next to him, bundled in enough winter gear that it makes it hard to determine who it is. But the voice is almost the same, and that’s what helps Brent figure it out. 

The man laughs, pulling off his beanie and ruffling his hair with his hand. “Yeah, this might help.”

“Oh, dude-” Brent manages, floored. 

Logically, he knows Mark has changed. It’s obvious - his features are sharper with age, now. And somewhere along the way Brent’s height had kicked in and Mark’s hadn’t - when they’d last seen each other, Brent is  _ sure _ they were the same height but now Mark only comes up to about his chin. Then again, he’d towered over everyone at Sandy High after his growth spurt, so maybe that’s not surprising. 

But Mark still has the same deep hazel eyes, brown circling green, evident even in the harsh fluorescents of the store, and the same unkempt brown hair, although the way it’s cut is much more flattering to Mark’s cheekbones than the buzz cut he’d had as a kid. 

But the voice - other than being deeper and richer - the voice is the same. 

Mark lets out a little ‘oof’ in surprise when Brent leans down to pull him into a tight hug. When he pulls back, Mark’s face is flushed, his smile bright. 

“I’m so sorry I lost touch-” 

“I probably should have told you when I came back-” 

They talk over each other, then both pause. Brent rubs his hand over the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “I should have kept writing.” 

Mark smiles, waving it away. “Oh, honey, please, you and I would hardly be the first people in the history of the universe who say we’re going to keep in touch and then just...don’t. It’s okay. We were young, and besides, I could have kept writing, too. We just drifted into our own lives.” He shrugs, smiling, and Brent feels slightly better. “Doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you now.” 

“You mentioned you’re back?” 

“As of...about a day ago, yeah, I’m back for a bit. For the foreseeable future. Which, if you know anyone who’s hiring, I’m looking for some part-time work. Not to just abuse an old friend for their connections right away or anything.” 

Something pangs in Brent’s chest at Mark’s flushed cheeks, at the way he smiles. Like a little bit of sunshine penetrating the winter darkness. “I’ll keep my ear out.” He takes out his cell phone and opens a text message. “Text your number for me?” 

Mark grins, pulling the phone over and typing rapidly. A quiet ding sounds in his coat pocket and he hands the phone back to Brent. Saving Mark’s number as a contact, Brent laughs at the message. 

**Brent:** damn you got TALL

“Yeah, I figured no one’s ever going to say that to me so I thought I’d take my chance,” Mark says with a laugh. 

Brent looks back at the pizza, then notices that Mark’s carrying basket is empty, too. “Hey, uh. Would you want to go grab a drink with me next door? Catch up on old times?” 

Mark checks his phone discreetly, then nods. “I’d love to. Let me just grab a few things before they close? It’s not like it’s going to go bad in the car out there. It’s freezing.”

“I think California made you soft.” He’s not quite sure where he pulled the teasing tone from, but it feels natural, like he’s slipping back to the way they used to be around each other. Before two decades of life happened.

Mark walks a few feet, then looks back. “Well, are you coming?” 

Brent grins. “Yeah.” 

The teasing continues throughout the store as they finish their shopping quickly. Mark keeps poking Brent about the benefits of sunshine and warmth, and Brent keeps calling him a California wimp, and then it gets physical when Mark smacks Brent lightly on the arm and Brent pretends to be hurt. Just like old times, really. 

And it doesn’t get any less so when they slide into one of the booths at the bar with their drinks - cranberry juice for Brent, a glass of the house red for Mark - and settle down to talk. 

“What brings you back?” Brent asks, leaning over the table, trying to bring himself more to Mark’s eye level. 

Mark’s face goes serious, and he runs his fingers over the stem of the wine glass. “Nana’s not doing so well.” 

The news jolts Brent; normally he keeps track of how Patricia Peterson is doing, even through back channels, but he’d missed this. Then again, he’s been busy and...well. Not really feeling like socializing lately. “What’s wrong? Can I help?” 

“She fell a couple of days ago and broke her hip. Luckily she had her cell phone on her. She called the sheriff and got help right away, but-” Mark takes a sip. “My job is a bit more flexible than anyone else’s in the family, so I volunteered to come up and help her out.” 

“Oh my god! I didn’t hear about that at all, I’m so sorry.” He reaches out across the table and strokes his thumb over Mark’s hand. He surprises himself with the move before realizing it’s those old-time instincts showing up again. “Is there anything I can do at all? Do you need help setting up anything for her? I’m pretty handy - and I’ve got contractors for all of the stuff I can’t do myself.” 

Mark looks at him, then shakes his head. “You haven’t changed, but I mean that in the best way possible. Still out to protect everyone.” 

Brent feels his cheeks heat. “Just- if I can help-” 

“No, I mean. Yes, I’d love your help. Actually taking you up on it is something completely different, and a lot harder, you know what I mean?” 

“I do. The offer stands, though.” 

Mark sighs, rubbing over his face. “I’m worried about money, is all. I have no idea how we’re going to do this.” 

If Brent remembers one thing about the Petersons from his childhood, it’s that they all have a certain hesitation about accepting any type of monetary help. It’s never stopped him from offering, though. His dad always said that if Brent wasn’t careful, he’d give the whole hard-earned fortune all away, and Brent had always retorted - not aloud, of course - that there was no point in keeping it.

“Can we talk about something else? I’m sure you don’t want to go over this with me.” Mark taps the side of his wine glass. “I feel like the last time we talked, we were sophomores, and you’d been picked for Homecoming king? Tell me about the life of Brent since then.” 

Brent cringes, remembering the awkward photo of himself and Sarah V. at the Homecoming dance with their crowns. But he settles into his side of the booth, too, and finds that talking to Mark is just as easy as it ever was.

They’re another round in when someone approaches their table. “Can I interrupt?” 

Both Brent and Mark start at the third voice, and Brent looks over to see Georgia Beaumont, his fellow town advisor, sliding into the booth on his side. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I just needed to talk to you, Brent.” The older woman holds her hand over the table for Mark to shake, and Brent rushes to make introductions. 

“Georgia, this is Mark Peterson. Patricia’s grandson? Mark, Georgia Beaumont. She’s on the Havenwood advisory board with me.” 

Mark raises his eyebrow at Brent. “I didn’t know you were into town politics.” 

Brent shrugs, feeling his cheeks heat. 

“Brent’s one of our younger board members, and he’s always bringing such good ideas,” Georgia praises, which only makes him blush more. 

“Thanks, Georgia. I, uh, just decided to get into it a couple of years ago, actually.” 

“And he’s been brilliant ever since,” Georgia adds with a wink at Mark, who’s giving Brent a considering look. “Now, the reason I interrupted is because I heard Steve’s been letting people go look at the east woods, and I really don’t think it would be best for Havenwood to overdevelop, when our brand is rustic. We don’t want to become a suburb of Portland, Brent.” 

Brent scowls, Steve leaving a sour taste in his mouth once again. “No, I know. Who’s on his side?” 

“At the moment we’ve got the majority, but you know how good he is at convincing people.” 

_ Manipulating people, more like. _ Brent thinks of Steve’s earlier threat to bring John in. “We won’t let him win, okay? Havenwood’s going to push forward, but we’re not going to sell out.” 

Georgia sighs, pushing up from the booth and giving them both a nod. “I hope you’re right. People get so caught up in progress they don’t care what kind of progress it is. Your father-” Georgia cuts herself off, biting her lip. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I know.” Brent waves off her apology, his mood darkening even as Georgia steps away. “See you at the meeting.” 

“You boys have a good evening.” 

When he looks back to Mark, he’s running a finger around the stem of his empty wine glass. “Your father did what?” 

Mark’s never been one to beat around the bush. “You remember the old ski resort out on Quarry Road?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, Mom got so mad when she found out we went sledding there.” 

“To be fair, abandoned buildings probably aren’t the safest place to explore.” 

Brent has to smile as Mark leans forward, his eyes dancing with mischief. “That’s not what 10-year-old Brent thought.” 

“Got me there,” Brent concedes with a dry laugh. “About ten years ago, my dad got control of the property, turned it into the subdivision that’s there now. Brought in new people, new families, made himself a lot of money, and put pressure on the existing infrastructure. So I...ran for the advisory board as a way to…”

“Make sure what your father did doesn’t happen again.” Mark’s voice is understanding, and Brent has such a wave of nostalgia for their childhood it overwhelms him for a moment. “How is he doing, anyway? You guys still at the mansion?”

He looks down at his cranberry juice. “He passed, um, a few years ago.” 

“Oh my god, Brent, I’m so sorry-” 

“No, it’s okay. It’s- I’m good, now.” And because he’s good, and because Mark’s a little tipsy and it’s making Brent feel a little tipsy just by proxy, and because it’s so freaking good to see Mark Peterson’s face, he says something he’d normally leave to the town gossips: “Brent Sr. went out of this world exactly how he liked to live in it - in the bed of a woman who was most definitely not his current wife.” 

Mark grimaces. “Sorry, dude.”

“I inherited the business, the house, and my dad’s ex as my partner. It’s not so bad, I guess.” 

“And you? Have you jumped on that marriage train yet? Got a kid at home you haven’t told me about yet?” Mark looks conspicuously down at Brent’s bare ring finger. 

“No, there’s no one.” 

“I’m surprised, you know, that a lady hasn’t scooped you up and made a decent man out of you.” 

“Marriage doesn’t make anyone a decent anything,” Brent answers after a sip of juice.

Mark clicks his empty glass against Brent’s juice. “I’ll ‘cheers’ to that.” His eyes suddenly light up with a memory. “Oh my god, do you-” he laughs, sounding delighted, and just a little tipsy, “Do you remember our pact?”

“Which one?” Brent asks, a little giddy himself. 

Mark holds out his pinky finger and Brent automatically reaches across the booth to take it. “You swore that if gay marriage ever became legal and neither of us were already taken, you’d marry me. You remember that?” 

“It’s just called marriage now.” 

“Oh, look at you. Very progressive.” But Mark’s face is flushed, pleased. “You remember.” 

Brent makes a show of shaking his pinky. “I do.” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to it.” 

“I thought of you when the court decision came down. Wondered if you might be half of one of those couples that went out and got married right away, and it made me smile.” 

“That’s...sweet. I was- at that time I definitely was not in the headspace to be getting married.” 

_ Understandable, _ Brent thinks. “You and me both. So, you said your job is flexible. What do you do?”

“Change of topic read loud and clear,” Mark says with a smile. He holds up the cocktail napkin he’s been doodling on. “I actually made a decent living out of my art. I’m a graphic designer, working on commission right now.” 

“That’s so great.” Brent sighs as they fall into a comfortable silence. He’s missed this so much, he suddenly realizes. “Hey, Mark? Let’s, uh, not do that again. The thing where we stop talking to each other.” 

Mark’s smile is genuine as he holds out his pinky finger. “Dude, never again.” 

The vow, sealed by their linked fingers, settles with a sense of finality on Brent’s heart. It only serves to remind him of the vow they’d made two decades ago and the promise he’d made to protect Mark, always.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending more time together, Mark and Brent have some confessions.

By the time Mark finishes pricing out the various pieces of equipment and accommodations Nana’s going to need to survive in her house, he has a headache and a growing sense of financial dread. He pulls out his phone to talk to his mom several times, then puts it away. They decided together that he would be the one to help Nana through this, and he’s going to, dammit. His mother had done so much for him when he'd been diagnosed, and Nana, with her easy acceptance of him since childhood, deserves the best he can give.  


It’s almost noon when he walks into Nana’s space at the hospital. 

“I’m so sorry, I was dealing with things and-” Mark stops abruptly, looking at the huge bouquet of sunflowers currently brightening the room from the bedside table. “Nana, who sent you these? Do you have a suitor I don’t know about?” he teases.  


Nana looks better today, her color coming back. In fact, she’s looking at him with an air of expectation. “Oh no, these would be from the nice Henner boy. Remembered my favorite flowers and dropped them by himself this morning.” 

Mark sits down on the edge of the bed, enveloping Nana’s colder hand in his to warm it. “Really? I ran into him last night at the store.” 

“Such a nice young man, Mark.” 

“We can agree on that.” Mark smiles. They’d spent three hours at the bar last night. Mark had switched to water after two glasses of wine, but still, they’d just- not been able to stop talking. 

Just like old times. 

Sadly, also like old times, his former raging crush on Brent Henner is starting to make a comeback. Maybe if someone hadn’t grown up and filled out and just in general looked  _ delicious, _ he could get over it. Or maybe if somehow over two decades Brent had stopped being a kind, compassionate, gentle human being, he could get over it. 

But no, of course not, that’s not Mark’s luck. He wants to lecture his heart, to remind it how many years he spent of his childhood pining for his straight best friend, and how every other  _ available _ boy in San Diego had paled in comparison to Brent those first few years away. He _cannot_ reignite this old flame; he has enough to deal with already.

“So I talked to the doctor, and she said it's still going to be a few more days. But the nurse said you were able to get from the bed to the wheelchair by yourself this morning?” 

Nana frowns, probably at the news she can’t leave today. “It’s not so bad today. The pain meds make me loopy, though. Thought I was going to fall again.” 

There’s a nervous look in Nana’s eyes as she looks over at the wheelchair that makes Mark frown, too. “That’s why I’m here. We’ll have you walking again in no time, Nana.” 

Nana squeezes his hand, her grip as strong as ever, which heartens Mark a little. “And I’m grateful for it, my boy.” 

It’s weird, sitting in his childhood home all alone. Weirdly quiet, out in the country with no traffic noises. It’s already dark outside before dinnertime, and Mark can’t help thinking about The Walking Dead and creepy country farmhouses and zombies and unprotected glass windows. 

“Oooo-kay, Peterson, pull yourself together.” He takes his bowl of ramen and the stack of Nana’s financial paperwork back to his childhood room and firmly closes and locks the door. 

Mark spreads all of the papers over Nana’s crafting table and pulls out his laptop to make his own spreadsheet budget. At the end of it, his headache is back, pounding behind his eyes, and he’s yet to find a solution that could be sustainable for more than two months,  _ if _ he gets a second job, possibly a third. 

He knows he’s grinding his teeth, and it’s not helping his headache, but he can’t seem to stop. The whole  _ point _ of coming up here was to help Nana recover, and if he can’t do that because he’s working three jobs to keep the lights on…

Even with Medicare helping with Nana’s expenses, the pension seems to barely cover rent. Somehow California prices are creeping into rural Oregon. It’s frankly disgusting what her landlord is charging. 

So if rent is covered, he’ll figure out paying for food, somehow, and also his own meds and exorbitant health insurance and student loan repayment. 

Everything seems completely overwhelming, and Mark rests his head on the desk for a moment, trying to figure out his next plan of action. He finds himself with the sudden urge to talk to Brent again, and unlike earlier, when he’d been able to resist calling his mom, his fingers start typing in Brent’s name without him really thinking about it. 

**Mark:** Hey, can you talk?

Mark’s surprised to see the three little dots appear right away. 

**Brent:** Of course! Call if you need to, ever

Mark can almost hear the brightness behind Brent’s text, and before he can change his mind, he clicks to place the call. 

_ “Hello?” _

“Hey, it’s me,” Mark says, even though he knows Brent recognizes him. 

“Hey.” Brent’s voice is even gentler like this, slightly crackling in the poor mountain signal. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, just. You know. Sitting home all alone and freaking myself out that every little creak is definitely a zombie waiting to ambush me the moment I let down my guard.”

“You have to watch out for that in old places like your nana’s. Zombies come in from the cold for the winter. You have to make sure all your containers of brains are tightly sealed. They’ll chew right through plastic bags.” Brent pauses. “No, wait, I’m thinking of mice.” 

“Har har,” Mark snarks, even though he’s smiling. “I went to see the new Dawn of the Dead at the theater with friends, back in college? And then, like, I couldn’t sleep for a few days after that and I had this huge existential crisis about running zombies and how we’re all screwed so we might as well just give up now.” 

“Let me guess, you went out and got survivalist supplies.” 

“No, that would have been logical. I just spent the next few months scared every time I was out of contact with the outside world, like when I was in my apartment all alone, or riding in an elevator. That movie fucked me up, man.” He loves hearing Brent’s little chuckle over the crackling phone line. “‘Course, my therapist helped me figure out that the fear of zombies is just the fear of disease, of human vectors that can’t control themselves, of your loved ones turning against you, of people hiding their diagnosis until it’s too late. All deeply terrifying things, of course. And then you add running to the whole mix and it’s like, what’s even the point, it’s like all of those fears on crack or something.” 

There’s a silence on the other end of the line as Brent presumably digests Mark’s zombie monologue. Zombie-logue. “Well, now  _ I’m _ thinking about zombies in this huge house all by myself, too.” 

Mark laughs, feeling desire curling around his heart. He pinches himself, though.  _ Stop flirting, Peterson. _

“I could come over and then at least we’d be apocalypse buddies.”  _ Yes. That’s definitely not flirting. _ Mark rolls his eyes at himself. 

“You should. Come over, I mean. We can watch something on TV. Not zombies.” 

He writes off the little thrill he feels at Brent’s words as nostalgia for good times long gone. “I’ll be right there.” 

Once Mark takes the first turn toward Brent’s house, it’s like instinct automatically takes over, and before he knows it, he’s pulling into the side drive of the large house and walking around the back. It doesn’t occur to him that it’s weird to knock on the kitchen door until he’s already done it.

The lace curtains rustle - Mark remembers them from before - and then Brent’s opening the door wide. He looks all warm and comfortable in a cable knit green sweater, worn jeans, and bare feet. Again, Mark’s gut twists: bare feet are his kryptonite. He shakes it off and looks up at Brent’s warm smile instead. 

“Hey, come in.” There’s nothing in Brent’s stance that indicates he’s annoyed at Mark being here, and Mark relaxes marginally, slipping inside and closing the door behind him firmly against the chill. 

“Hey. Sorry, knocking on the front door seemed too weird and formal.” 

“Understandable. I mostly come in the back, still, myself.” 

Mark looks around as he unwinds his scarf and slips off his beanie, interested. “Wow. Nothing in here has changed.” 

Brent shrugs, heading to one of the cupboards and opening it to reveal glasses. “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got water, bubbly and regular, and I think there might be some orange juice, or I could get tea-” 

“Water’s great. The regular kind,” Mark says hurriedly, before Brent can offer to hand-squeeze some lemons for lemonade or something.

He watches Brent move around the kitchen to get water for them both. “About the house, well, I’m not a decorator, and Dad hired people to do it, so I figured why mess with it?” 

_ That’s sad, _ Mark thinks. “Okay, but I thought my house was creepy all alone, so you must be going insane.” 

“Don’t say that.” Brent’s voice is sharp, then he winces. “Sorry. Don’t say insane. I mean. Insane isn’t very sensitive to those dealing with a mental illness, and...” He trails off, busying himself getting water. 

Mark watches as Brent wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, his cheeks a faint red. There’s something familiar about the correction - Brent had always been a stickler for language back when they were kids - and yet there’s an obvious personal connection for Brent, too, so though he doesn’t want to press, he finds himself intensely curious. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Brent waves a hand to the living room. “C’mon, let’s go watch something.” 

Mark follows him, frowning. “No, I should apologize, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He throws his winter gear over the back of the couch and settles into one side, accepting the glass of water from Brent and feeling like an absolute heel. “I appreciate you correcting me.” 

Brent nods, grabbing the remote. “What do you want to watch? But seriously, no zombies, now I’m all freaked out about it.” 

Once again, Mark finds himself going along with Brent’s obvious deflection. “Great British Bake Off?”

“Perfect.” 

They’re nearing the end of episode one when Brent pauses it and looks over at Mark. “I- I want to say something. About what I said earlier.” Brent's flush is back, full force. “There was really no need, and-”

“There's no need for this apology, you mean.” Mark slides his hand over to where Brent's fingers are tracing over his pants. “How many times did you correct people - people who you were definitely popular enough by name to hang out with - about using ‘gay’ as a pejorative? Just for me? We can all always use language reminders.”

Brent looks slightly relieved, but still uncomfortable. Mark's trying to figure out exactly how hard he should probe, if at all, when the TV screen goes into screensaver mode and they’re suddenly watching drone footage of downtown San Francisco. The distraction is enough for both of them to recenter, and Mark runs his thumb over Brent’s hand, attempting to make his voice as gentle as possible. “Listen, Brent. This is obviously...something, and I just need you to know that you owe no one, especially me, your diagnosis, okay?” 

There. That’s easy enough. How many times has he said that in group?

And Brent looks relieved, so it's worth it. 

They sit in silence for a moment, and Mark’s just about to change the subject, when Brent speaks again. “It’s not even. I mean. It’s just depression, and it gets worse in the winter, and it’s...nothing.” He avoids Mark’s eyes, looking at the slow, hypnotic shot of San Francisco sliding by. 

“That’s a thing, right? Getting worse in the winter?” 

“Seasonal Affective Disorder, yeah. SAD.” He laughs derisively at the on-the-nose acronym. “Like people get when they live at the Arctic Circle or something.” 

“Or, you know, up in the mountains surrounded by evergreens. On the rainy side, no less.” Mark takes a drink of his water, wondering at the vulnerability of the man in front of him. 

In a way, Brent had always been more vulnerable, more sensitive than Mark. Mark had just made a more obvious target for homophobic bullies. His memories of Brent, though, every single one is tinged with a sort of gentleness that he doesn’t think comes only from nostalgia. What had happened to Brent without Mark as his anchor? How had that gentleness survived high school?

“Do you- are you treating it? If you don’t mind my asking.” 

Brent still won’t look him in the eyes. “I have this, um, light thing. That acts like the sun. And I’m on antidepressants. And I run. A lot,” he adds, laughing a little at himself. 

“That’s really good then. That’s good work. I’m proud of you.” 

Brent’s eyes cut up to his in surprise, and then Mark has the pleasure of watching them lose some of that bleakness that he’s seen several times now. 

He’s a little surprised Brent said anything, but maybe it just shows that he’s feeling exactly how Mark is right now - like the last twenty years hadn’t happened, like Mark hadn’t moved away, like they hadn’t ever lost touch. Mark can perfectly imagine Brent’s body pressed against his in the hammock, swaying in a nice warm summer breeze, talking about nothing and everything. 

It feels like they’re picking up where they left off, except they can’t quite, because they’re both different people. It’s as if Brent opened up his shirt and showed Mark all the battle scars he’d accumulated since they last met. Even if Brent would never ask to see his own, Mark can feel his own expectations weighing him down. 

He takes a fortifying sip of water, then reaches across the couch to squeeze Brent’s forearm. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to, and it doesn’t change anything about the way I think of you, I promise.” 

Brent shrugs with feigned nonchalance, but Mark can see the smile tipping his lips up. 

_ Do it, Peterson. It’ll be okay. _

“I- I have something to tell you, too,” Mark starts, his voice wavering a little. 

“Whatever it is, it’s not going to change-” 

“Don’t make any promises yet,” Mark interrupts, holding up his hand, and Brent closes his mouth in surprise. “I’m just- just let me say it.” 

Brent nods, slowly, clearly confused, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

_ It’s okay. You’ve done amazing work. You know who you are. You are not your diagnosis. It’s going to be okay. Nana loves you, and Mama loves you, and it’ll be okay.  _

“I’m HIV-positive.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm especially proud of that zombie=mice joke, because I am Brent, and I am down with the dad jokes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brent reacts to Mark's confession, and makes an unusual proposal.

Brent’s mind races through a billion different images fueled by popular culture - the most prominent being Mark’s young, pretty face wasting away in a hospital bed - before he refocuses on Mark. Mark, who’s sitting beside him on the couch but no longer looking at him. Mark, who needs him to say  _ something. _

He feels extremely out of his depth. “Like AIDS?”

Mark meets his eyes. 

“Sorry-that’s probably a stupid question-“

“No, it’s not. It’s just-“ Mark sighs, running a hand over his face. “No, I don’t have AIDS. And if I keep up my treatment, I hopefully never will.”

Mark’s hunching away from him, which Brent doesn’t like, not at all. He scoots closer, resting his hand on Mark’s knee. “That's- that's really good, Mark.”

He doesn't know what the right thing to say is, or what’s the right thing to do. He realizes he's been gifted with a piece of Mark's trust, and he just absolutely wants to not screw it up. 

And so, at a loss, he tells Mark exactly that.

Mark laughs humorlessly, but he turns his body toward him again, his hand threading with Brent’s. “You're doing a great job so far, champ.”

Now Brent has to laugh. “You're very generous.” 

“The short version is that I tested positive six years ago, and I've been on drugs to control my viral load ever since. I'm currently undetectable, and I have been for about five and a half years, thanks to the amazing HIV specialists in San Diego.” 

“And, um, undetectable, that's a good thing?” Brent’s mind is racing through all of the internet searches he wants to run. “You're okay?”

“I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Are there doctors in Portland? Do you need to go back to San Diego for appointments? Do you need me to watch Nana for you? I'm happy to do whatever.”

Mark looks at him, cocking his head a little to the left, as if trying to figure him out. He finally shakes himself out of it, and then Brent's dealing with an armful of Mark Peterson. He wraps his arms around his best friend's body - his warm, vital body - and holds him close. 

“You, Brent Henner, are going to make some woman extremely happy someday.” Mark's arms circle around his neck, his face pressing against the collar of Brent’s sweater. 

It feels wrong somehow, that statement, and it makes Brent want to put his back up. That prickly sensation shudders over his skin until Brent brushes that thought aside in favor of continuing to concentrate on the hug. 

Mark's shaking a little when he pulls away and sits on his own again. He still looks too sad for Brent's taste, and so he struggles to remember Mark's phrasing. “You don't owe anyone your diagnosis, either, but thank you for telling me.”

Mark’s laugh chokes into a sob, and he swipes at his eyes in a move that’s so reminiscent of what Brent remembers from their childhood that he can’t quite get over it. A million years ago, Mark had cried on Brent’s shoulder only a handful of times: when they’d ended up in different first grade classes, when Mark’s beloved golden retriever Buddy had died, and that final time before they’d parted. 

Mark doesn’t take refuge in his shoulder now, instead using his own sweater sleeves to wipe the moisture away. 

Six years ago... when they’d been 28. It seems so young. “God, you must have been so scared.”

“It was...a dark time, yeah.” Mark busies himself with his glass of water.  


Brent glances back at his own and realizes he's barely touched it. He pulls it over and takes a gulp, his suddenly dry throat grateful. 

Mark licks water from his lips, a simple gesture Brent is sure he's seen a million times before. So why does the move make his stomach flip flop?

“But you're okay now.”

Mark gives him a small smile. “You ever going to stop worrying about me?”

And the answer to that, at least, is easy. “Nope.”

“Thought so.” Mark reaches out for Brent’s hand, and Brent gives it easily. “I’m okay, really.” 

“Okay.”

“So we can start the show again.”

“Right.” 

“You have the remote, Brent.” 

“Oh, right.” Brent flushes at Mark’s smile and eyeroll and quickly turns the show back on. 

Sometime between episode two and three, Mark dozes off, and Brent covers him with a blanket. He should probably go upstairs to his bedroom, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t want to leave Mark all alone to wake up in a weird place. He turns on the next episode and pulls another blanket up around himself, and has no idea when he actually falls asleep. 

A shrill alarm wakes him up, and he blinks his eyes blearily at the still dark room. Across the couch, Mark grunts, slapping at the alarm on his phone and stumbling to his feet with a muttered,  _ “Shit,” _ under his breath. 

Brent pushes the blankets off and follows him to the kitchen, completely disoriented but knowing he needs to be a good host. He’s totally shocked that the microwave clock reads 6:00am. “Oh, wow. I didn’t mean for us to sleep all night.” 

“Yeah, I should  _ not _ have spent the night on a couch at my age.” 

Brent laughs. “Yes, your advanced age of ‘two months older than me.’”

Mark just arches a brow and finds a glass to fill at the sink. “Oh, you telling me that your long limbs all feel great after a night pretzeled together, Mr. Michael Jordan?”

“Well, sure.” He makes a show of stretching out his limbs as Mark rolls his eyes, then laughs when numerous joints pop. 

He watches Mark take a necklace from inside his clothes and open a small container hanging from it, popping a pill out. Efficiently, he swallows the pill and knocks back the glass of water. 

The movements, completely routine, remind Brent of his own, and he crosses to one of the cupboards and pulls out his morning pills. He takes them with his own glass of water, saluting Mark with it first. “To being old, then.”

Mark laughs, rubbing at the short stubble that’s gathered on his normally clean-shaven jaw overnight. “I should get going. I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do with Nana’s place. There’s no way she can get up the stairs. And I’m not having any luck dealing with the landlord.”

Brent chews his lip as he considers the problem - Eric over at Sunrise Realty isn’t exactly what Brent would consider a friend, so it’s not like he could call in a favor. Instead, he starts rifling through all of the listings he can remember, attempting to think of an appropriate rental for them. “I have a single-level over in Pine Valley that might work.” 

Mark shakes his head. “There’s no way we can afford rent in two places. I’m barely making ends meet as it is. You wouldn’t believe what Sunrise is charging for her place. And my insurance costs-” 

Well that’s easy enough to fix. “So I let you borrow it for a few weeks. However long it takes Nana to get better.”

“I couldn’t, and it’s probably going to be months, although Nana is pretty determined.”

But Brent’s barely listening to the standard Peterson help rejection, already moving on to the problem of insurance costs. That’s a harder nut to crack. He has an amazing insurance plan, but he can’t just give it to Mark...unless… He looks down at his hand, then holds up his pinky. “Or...we could get married!” 

Mark blinks at him, and the silence in the kitchen is heavy. 

Brent’s heart is pounding, of course it is, because he just suggested  _ marriage, _ he has no idea what he’s thinking. Except that it’s the perfect solution to Mark’s problems and solving Mark’s problems has always been Brent’s number one goal. He looks at Mark’s surprised face and gives himself a second to really think about it, about marrying his best friend. Heck, it couldn’t be any worse than any of the times his father got married. “I mean. You could join my insurance, and you and Nana could come stay here. With me,” he adds belatedly, then holds up his hand. “That offer’s on the table anyway, though. You don’t have to be married to me to live here, no one would care. Just...the other stuff. Insurance.”

“Brent, you- this is silly.”

Brent gestures to the back door Mark came through last night. “There’s only the one step up if we bring her in the back door, and there’s a bedroom and bathroom on the first floor, just around the corner over there. I think it was supposed to be for, like, a servant or something. We never had one, anyway. It’d be perfect for her recovery, and in the meantime, you can save money on insurance, too.” 

“That’s- Brent. That’s- I can’t. Um. I should talk to Nana first, I think.” 

Brent’s excitement fades out of manic range, and he rubs his neck, embarrassed at his outburst. “Right. Right, of course. I’m sorry.” 

Mark grabs his winter things and starts pulling them on. “You don’t have to be, honey, really. You’re just- you’re still Brent Henner, through and through.” He pulls his beanie down over his hair. “Hey, come on. I really appreciate you trying to help us. As if you didn’t already buy Nana a humongous bouquet of sunflowers.” 

He pulls Brent into a hug, and Brent’s stiff for a second before he squeezes Mark back. He’d forgotten this, hugging Mark, how good it feels. When he lets Mark go, it’s not without regret, even though he knows Mark has things to get done today if Nana’s coming home soon.

He holds the back door open for Mark, trying not to acknowledge the depression seeping back into the edges of his heart. “Thanks for the company,” he murmurs, and then is completely floored when Mark goes up on his tiptoes and brushes a kiss over Brent’s cheek. 

Brent’s still processing it as Mark walks away quickly toward the driveway. It could have been one of those friendly European kisses. That’s probably what it had been, for sure. Maybe they’re that fancy in San Diego, too.

Regardless, the skin Mark touched with his lips is burning with heat still in the frigid morning air, even as Brent stands on the back porch to watch Mark drive away. 

Later that afternoon, though it's already dark at the Henner House because of the trees, Brent finds himself wrapped up on the couch, his laptop in his chest, a million tabs open. 

He's done enough research now to assuage whatever fears he'd had about Mark’s health after he’d left earlier, but there's still so much he doesn't know. 

He scans the tab currently displayed, then gets pulled in.  _ Undetectable equals untransmittable.  _

_ When a person's viral load is undetectable, they are unable to transmit HIV to their partner, even without the use of condoms for penetrative vaginal or anal sex. Condoms and other methods are still suggested and preferred to protect against pregnancy and other Sexually Transmitted Infections... _

Brent clears his throat, his face heating. Even if Mark hadn’t rejected his marriage proposal, it’s not like they’d be having sex anyway.

He stares out the window, into the darkness, and tries to feel anxiety - or anything, really - about the thought of marrying Mark, but it doesn’t come. Brent’s always been dead set against marriage, but it’s not like marrying Mark would be the real thing. They’d probably have to make it look like that for a bit, just to avoid fraud suspicion or something. He’d maybe have to take Mark out around Havenwood. 

He grins a little evilly, imagining showing up to an advisory meeting with his own guest and living proof that Brent is, indeed, a family man. It would wipe the smug smile right off of Steve O’Connor’s face and serve his homophobic ass right.

Brent blinks, looking back down at the website he has pulled up. None of that matters, anyway, because Mark doesn’t want to, and he probably thinks Brent is weird for asking. So Brent does what he does best, and channels his weirdness into researching Portland-based HIV specialists. He makes a spreadsheet, sorts it by positive versus negative reviews, and sends it to Mark’s phone with his own recommendations highlighted. 

By the time he's done, he pushes the laptop out of the way and drags himself off the couch to go to the bathroom. He's mildly surprised to find it's 3am and he entirely skipped dinner. Oops. 

Bleary, he tumbles into bed, still dressed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark's floored - and intrigued - by Brent's proposal.

Some things never change. Old Tom still runs the grocery store, winter still brings an influx of tourists renting cabins and making actual traffic in the mountain town, and he’s still fucking head over heels for Brent Henner. 

God, tell his poor little gay heart twenty years ago that Brent Henner would  _ propose _ to him one day, and Mark would have either exploded from happiness or laughed outright. 

Not that it had been much of a proposal, Mark allows, or tries to allow, but honestly, seeing Brent all sleep-rumpled and bleary-eyed and barefoot in the kitchen, proposing marriage with the most excitement Mark had seen him show as an adult - the entire thing was completely appealing. 

Truly, he’s kind of surprised the man isn’t married already. It’s like he doesn’t even know how much of a catch he is. 

Fuck Brent Sr. anyway, for turning Brent into  _ this. _

And then there’s the other thing. Mark couldn’t have asked for Brent to take the news better. It had been clear Brent didn’t know what to say, but he’d also refrained from asking Mark why he’d had unprotected sex or shared a needle or something. He’d made no value judgements or assumptions, had leapt to no conclusions. The only other people he can say that for in his personal life are Mom and Nana. Even his aunt had looked disappointed in him; it had taken over a year to repair that relationship, his hardest year, the year in which he’d been struggling with feeling sick the most, until his viral load came down under control with the meds. 

So yeah, Brent had passed that little test with flying colors, and has continued to prove himself. Mark hasn’t picked up on any hesitation to touch him or stay away from him and his ‘diseased body.’ Brent’s not treating him like he’s someone who’s been bitten by a zombie, who’s going to turn and infect him at any moment. 

He finds himself smiling at the gentle way Brent invited him over to keep him from thinking about zombies. 

“That’s a nice smile, honey,” Nana murmurs, apparently waking from her nap, and Mark immediately moves to her bed. 

“All for you, Nana.” Mark winks, and Nana laughs. 

“Nope, that’s a boy smile if I’ve ever seen one, and believe me, I’ve seen enough.” 

Mark rolls her bed table over as she uses the button to push herself into a sitting position. “Are you hungry? The nurse came by but we figured we’d let you sleep.” 

Nana’s nose wrinkles. “When are you busting me out of this joint?” 

“Well…”

Nana arches a brow at his hesitation. 

“I’ve been having trouble with your landlord trying to get some medical accommodations put in, but, um, Brent offered his house for us, if we want. So if that’s the case, we could probably get you out of here sooner. If I can tell the doctor you have a safe place to come home to, that is.” 

“That’s very sweet of Brent,” Nana says, her voice leading.

“Yeah, it is.” 

“So why’re you looking less than thrilled about it?”

“Well, I told him I’d need to talk to you-”

“Oh, so you put  _ me _ in the middle of it, I see-” 

“Nana, he..he  _ proposed _ to me.” 

Now both of Nana’s brows raise to her hairline. 

“Not- not for love or anything. He’s doing that protective Brent thing, again. We could stay at the Mansion, and I could get on his insurance, and that’d be nice, sure.  _ Very _ nice, actually,” Mark allows, thinking about the possibility of having a savings account with actual money in it again.

Nana purses her lips, looking thoughtful. “I see.” 

“Do you? Because I sure as hell don’t. He’s straight, he’s handsome, and he’s about as eligible as a bachelor can be. Why would he want to waste time on a fake marriage with me?”

Nana holds up her fingers and counts them off. “Two reasons. One, he’s lonely, and anyone with a heart can see it.” Mark nods. Of course he’d noticed. “And two, you’re safe. You’re friends, right, and that’s all you’ll ever be, given your varied preferences? So your hearts are safe. I guarantee that’s how that boy is thinking, given his skunk of a father.” 

It’s Mark’s turn to sit in silence for a bit, chewing over what Nana said. The thing is, it makes absolute sense. Of course he’d feel safe to Brent, when there’s basically a guarantee that hearts won’t get involved. At least,  _ Brent’s  _ heart won’t get involved, and Brent can never know just how involved Mark’s heart is already. Mark cannot ruin their friendship with his inappropriate feelings. 

However, after an entire childhood of Brent making him feel safe, providing the kind of safe feeling for Brent for once is majorly appealing. 

Besides, it’s not like his marriage dance card is full, or even active. He’s not here to date, and he wasn’t trying to in San Diego either. It’s not like marrying Brent would put a huge wrench in his nonexistent plans to fall in love with someone. It might provide a nice shield against unwanted advances, even. 

He’s brought back from his thoughts by Nana making a pleased little noise beside him, and he follows her eyes, twisting around to see Brent standing in the doorway of the hospital room. Well, taking up most of the doorway, to be honest. Brent’s smile is sunnier than the current chilly atmosphere outside the hospital, as if it alone could break through the low-hanging clouds that are clinging to the mid-morning, refusing to burn off. 

_ Christ, Peterson, you're already waxing poetic. Leave the poor straight man alone. You’re thinking about marrying him, not jumping him. _

Still, it's like his body and brain are remembering exactly what it feels like to be just a little in love with Brent Henner. He stands in greeting, pulling Brent into an easy catch and release hug. 

“I just wanted to make sure Mrs. Peterson is doing okay. I know long hospital stays can be trying.” Brent’s cheeks are flushed, whether from cold or something else, Mark isn't sure. 

“You know you call me Nana.  _ Mrs. Peterson _ .” Nana makes a derisive sound but smiles and cheats out her cheek for Brent to bend his body in half - he does so easily and gladly - and kiss. “And I’ll be out soon, don’t you worry.” 

“It's just been awhile,” Brent murmurs, still blushing. 

Nana looks between the two of them with a smile. “That it has, my boy. Come on, sit by me.” She pats the bed. 

Mark takes the guest chair, watching with some amusement as Brent awkwardly sits down next to Nana. Nana takes his hand in hers and squeezes. “Now I hear you two are hatching a plan.” 

Brent looks over at Mark, shocked, and Mark has a moment of panic, thinking maybe Brent hadn’t meant the entire thing. He  _ had _ been sleepy, after all. Maybe Brent doesn’t want to be attached to someone with Mark’s health issues-

“I- I mean. It wouldn’t bother you? Seeing your grandson married for...non-traditional reasons.” 

Brent’s quiet statement settles a little bit of Mark’s anxiety. He doesn’t  _ sound _ like it was all a joke.

Nana laughs, patting Brent’s hand. “You know, I married my best friend, too.” 

Mark remembers Grandpa just barely. He remembers even less any interactions between Nana and Grandpa, so he can’t verify the truth in Nana’s statement. Still, it doesn’t feel like she means the same thing. He doubts she married for financial gain. 

Or for protecting her best friend from the obvious sinkhole of loneliness he’s stuck in. 

But Nana’s apparent approval just ticks one more box for Mark, along with ‘values align’ and ‘accepts my HIV status.’ Actually, the only box left unchecked seems to be ‘in love with each other.’ 

And really, that’s a lot more checks than some people probably start with. 

Nana looks between the two of them and smiles. “You know, the courthouse isn’t far from here. You’re already in town.” 

Brent’s blush is in full force now, which is the cutest damn thing, but Mark decides it’s his friendly duty to save his possible future-not-so-far-in-the-future husband. “Nana, stop teasing. Brent and I need to talk.  _ Behave.” _

She’s still quietly cackling as he pulls Brent out of the room. 

He takes them outside, though the weather’s stuck on that kind of icy fog that frosts his eyebrows. He just pulls his beanie down lower as they stroll through the manicured grounds. He laughs a little, then glances up at Brent’s still-red face and lets him in on the joke. “It just feels very Pride and Prejudice, us walking through a garden talking about a marriage of convenience.” 

Brent doesn’t laugh, though. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I thought- yesterday I got the impression that you didn’t think I was- I mean, you didn’t think the plan was a viable option.” 

Brent’s guarded tone makes Mark’s heart ache. “Well, I needed to think about it, but… I’m having a hard time coming up with a list of cons.”

“Me too.” Brent’s voice is cautious now. “Thinking about marriage normally makes me want to crawl out of my skin, but when I imagine you instead, it’s just like...just like being friends when we were kids. We know how to do that.” 

“Right.” Mark takes his hand. “And unlike-” He cuts himself off before he can directly reference Brent’s father. “Unlike some people, we’re going into this with a clear set of goals, not some nebulous idea about love.” 

“Right.” Brent looks relieved at Mark’s understanding. “It would make me feel amazing to know I’m helping you and Nana.” 

Mark leans into Brent’s assumption about Mark’s reasons. “I mean, it would be incredible, to feel safe like that.” He knows he said the right thing when Brent’s body straightens with pride. He shivers with a frisson of happiness, knowing that he’s making Brent feel better.

Brent stops in front of a water feature that’s been emptied for the winter weather and takes Mark’s gloved hands. “Mark Peterson, will you marry me?” 

And maybe Mark’s feet are freezing, and maybe the garden around them is basically Winter-dead, and maybe there’s an ugly hospital building in the background, but Mark can forget all that, looking up into Brent’s warm brown eyes. He can pretend, however briefly, that it’s real. 

“Dude. Yes.” 

Mark’s answer sends an obvious jolt through Brent’s system. “Awesome.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Brent hammer out some ground rules (hey, that's the name of the book!) for their marriage of convenience.

An hour later, after telling Mrs. Peterson -  _ Nana _ , Brent corrects himself - the news, they’re sitting across from each other, warming up with tea and sandwiches at a small cafe near the courthouse. Brent’s got one of his legal pads in front of him, and he neatly letters a title across the page.  _ Ground Rules. _

Mark nods as he sips his tea. “Okay, I’ve got one right away.” 

Brent readies his pen. “Go for it.” 

“I want your assurance that if you decide to see someone else, you won’t hide it from me. I don’t mind, obviously. You have needs, I have needs, and they’re sadly not compatible. But cheating, and lying, they’re major things for me.” 

Brent raises his eyebrows, but writes down,  _ No secret romantic relationships. _ “Done. I assume I can expect the same of you?” Mark nods, but the whole thing has Brent thinking of the advisory board and Steve’s threat to the town. “I’d like Havenwood to be off limits for that sort of thing. I think it’d be best that in Havenwood, we’re married, in love, whatever. I don’t know if insurance companies do investigations like that, but if everyone in our hometown can back us up, that’s a lot of weight on our side.” 

“That makes sense, sure.”

Brent adds,  _ Havenwood = ‘married.’  _ “So that leaves you clear if you want to come to the city and hook up or something,” he offers with a shrug. 

“Same for you,” Mark murmurs. 

“Right.” 

“What about physical stuff?” 

Brent jolts. “Uh-”

“No, no, no. Sorry. I know you’re not into- I meant, like, when we’re in Havenwood, how well do we need to sell it? Holding hands? Kissing? Living up to everyone’s ‘they were so horny for each other they literally got married at the earliest available moment’ expectations?”

“Ohhh.” He looks at Mark’s lips, remembering the kiss he’d brushed over Brent’s cheek, the way it had warmed his skin. “I’m fine with kissing you. Whatever we need to do to make it believable, I’m fine with.” 

“You’re sure? You’re not going to ‘no homo’ me, right?”

Now Brent’s offended. “Dude, I would never-”

Mark snorts, then laughs outright. “I know, dude, I know. It’s okay, I was just teasing.”

Brent rolls his eyes and adds  _ Havenwood = physical touch okay if needed. _

“Oh- um. Should we set an end date? When Nana’s better?”

For some reason the thought of the fake marriage ending sends a flare of panic through Brent’s system, but he takes a bite of his sandwich to cover it up. Mark’s going to leave again, and he just needs to get used to that idea. “When you head back to San Diego, maybe? I wouldn’t want you to have to come back to deal with this or anything. Then again, I might be able to keep you on my insurance even if you’re living in San Diego.” 

“So...no end date for now. How about things that would end it, then? Like falling in love. With someone else, I mean.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” 

_ Ends when someone falls in love, OR when someone wants out, OR if/when it feels like we might be losing our friendship. _

Mark looks over what he wrote, and gives Brent a small smile. He bumps his knee against Brent’s under the table. “Yeah, that looks good. I like that last one, huh? Let’s not forget that. I just got you back and I’d hate to lose you again.” 

“Me, too,” Brent offers, returning his smile.

“Oh, one more. No joint anything that doesn’t need to be joint, right? Like we’ll each have our money. And no adopting an animal or something. Make the divorce as easy as possible.” 

Brent has to take a moment before he nods. “Right. So,  _ Keep everything we can separate for an easier divorce.”  _

“It seems like a good boundary.”

“No, I agree. Definitely.” 

They look over the list again, quiet. “I can’t think of anything else,” Mark murmurs. He signs and dates his name at the bottom of the paper, and Brent does the same. 

Brent looks down at their nearly-done meal and their finished list. “Then I guess...we go get some rings and see how long we have to wait for the marriage license.” 

It turns out there’s no wait - just a five dollar processing fee to get the license right away. Before Brent and Mark really know what’s happening, they’re standing before a judge, witnesses grabbed from the line of other people waiting for a civil ceremony. Brent holds Mark’s left hand, sliding a ring - hastily procured at a local shop - onto his finger and promising a lot of things, and Mark does the same, and their witnesses cheer for them, and then they’re walking out of the courthouse again, the sun just starting to go down. All in all, he thinks the process took maybe an hour. 

“So that happened,” Mark murmurs. “Should we, like, do something to celebrate?” 

Brent rubs his hand over the back of his neck, then jolts when he feels the smoothness of his ring on his skin. “I- I mean, I’m not trying to abandon you already, but if I go into work for a couple of hours tonight, I could take tomorrow off and help move whatever you and Nana need over to my house. Oh, we can get those accommodations installed, too, so Nana can come home as soon as she’s ready, maybe?”

It feels very domestic, this chat between  _ husbands _ on the sidewalk outside the courthouse. It’s only slightly weird that they’ll be driving away in separate vehicles. 

“That’s fine.” 

“I was thinking about letting Reenie in on the secret, too. Since Nana knows. And having Reenie in our corner would be helpful.” 

Mark looks confused. “Reenie?” 

“Oh! Oh, wow. Um. I guess this has moved kind of quickly-” 

Suddenly Mark’s expression goes stormy. “Reenie’s not your girlfriend or something, right? She has a right to-”

“No, no. She’s my stepmom. Well, one of them, you know how it is. Reenie Henner. You’ll like her, and she’ll support us.” 

Some of the anger calms from Mark’s face. “If you can vouch for her, I trust you, okay? Just- remember which secrets are yours to tell.” 

Brent softens, pulling Mark into a hug. “Of course. I’d never.” 

“Thanks.” Mark’s breath huffs against his shoulder. 

Brent knocks on the front door of Nana’s house even as he’s finishing up his phone call with Reenie and swearing her to secrecy until they’re ready to announce their marriage themselves. When Mark swings the door open, he’s got this mischievous grin gracing his lips and he’s dressed down compared to what he’d been wearing yesterday at the courthouse, just a pair of worn jeans, t-shirt, and a Padres cap. He pulls Brent inside with a “Quick, you’re letting in the cold!” 

Brent laughs, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door just like Nana had told him to the first time he’d visited so many years ago. “So, what do we need to do here? I’m ready to help.”

Mark twists his baseball cap around backwards. “We’ve got a lot to do, come on.” Without further prompting, he leads Brent into Nana’s kitchen. 

Brent’s suddenly swamped by familiarity and nostalgia, and he reaches out to touch the scratched wooden table almost involuntarily. 

“I think you ate dinner here more than you did at home,” Mark murmurs behind his shoulder, watching him.

Brent blushes. “Yeah, your mom and grandma were way too nice to me.” 

Mark gives Brent’s body a little push with his own. “You deserve people being nice to you.” 

“You think we would have, if you’d stayed… would we have grown apart anyway? High school was weird.”

Mark sighs, leaning his hip against the counter and folding his arms over his chest. It’s a move Brent recognizes from their childhood, and it gives him a little shiver of warmth to see it. “As a rule, I don’t like to play what-if, but...I’d like to think we wouldn’t have grown apart, no.” 

Brent runs his fingers over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, then squeezes it, like he can pull himself back to a childhood dinner with the Petersons if he tries hard enough. 

He jolts when Mark’s hand covers his gently. “So, what happened in high school, Brent?”

Brent thinks of a hundred different dinners he spent eating alone in his huge house. “Nothing bad, just…” Brent shrugs. “It was hard at first, but then I got used to it. Started playing sports, especially once I got tall? So I didn’t have much time at home anyway.” 

When he glances up, Mark’s looking at his face, bothered. “Seriously, I’m fine. And it’s silly to be concerned about that anyway, you’re the one that got harassed out of town.” 

Mark’s hand squeezes his before he pulls away. “I’m going to go deal with clothes and toiletries and stuff. Could you start packing out all the plants? They’ll be good at your place, bring in some fresh air. And it’ll save me having to come take care of them here everyday.” 

“And Nana will like having something to fuss over,” Brent added, leaning over the table to pick up the potted plant there. “On it.” 

Thirty minutes later, he finds Mark in Nana’s bedroom, shaking his hips and humming under his breath as he rolls up a pair of sweatpants and tucks it in the open luggage case on the bed. Brent follows the black wire of his earbuds from the front pocket of his tight jeans and up the t-shirt framing his trim torso. And then Brent furrows his brows, wondering why the heck he just checked out his best friend. 

Objectively, of course Brent knows that Mark’s an attractive man. He’d have to be blind not to notice, or too mired in toxic masculinity to admit it. It’s not like noticing is wrong.

Mark catches him looking, though, pausing his dancing and pulling out his earbuds. “What’s up?” 

“I got the plants loaded, but it’s basically taking up the entire car, so I’m going to run them over, okay?” 

“Sounds great. Thanks for telling me, or I would’ve thought you were already running out on me.” Mark winks at him, his smile sunny and expectant when Brent just stands there. “Have I got something on my face?” He reaches up to wipe a hand over his stubbly cheek. 

“No, no. You look good.” Brent shakes his head, trying to clear it as he walks to the car. 

_ What the heck was that? _ He finds himself sitting in the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel as he thinks about the little strip of skin that had shown between Mark’s shirt and jeans. He feels  _ something _ stirring in his gut, and it doesn’t make a lick of sense. Frowning, he pulls out his phone, and types in the first name he can think of.

A dozen images of Ryan Reynolds pop onto the screen and Brent studies them intensely. Once again, he can see exactly why people find the man attractive. But even clicking on a picture of him mostly naked, all pumped up for Deadpool or some other action flick, stirs nothing in Brent. He looks back up at the Peterson house, imagining Mark dancing around Nana’s bedroom, packing clothes, and frowns again. 

Somehow the thought of the black headphone line running up Mark’s body is way more appealing than anything Brent can find on his phone. 

And then he realizes he’s lost five minutes to this stupid feeling and shoves it away, turning the key and pulling his seatbelt on. 

“What's up?” Brent asks later that night, walking into his kitchen to find Mark dividing steamed broccoli and what smells like teriyaki chicken between two bowls. 

Mark smiles widely as he carries the bowls to the kitchen table. “You're eating dinner with the Petersons tonight. Or, at least, the sole available Peterson.”

Brent slips into one of the chairs and picks up his fork, unable to speak beyond a heartfelt, “Thank you.” 

“We might as well make it a thing now. Nana has always been a stickler for dinner at the table.”

“I'll put it on my calendar,” Brent manages, though his voice sounds as tight as his chest feels. 

“I'm not cooking every night,” Mark warns. 

“I think I can take care of it every other night, if you don’t mind simple.” He feels absurdly happy when Mark beams at him. 

Driving Nana and Mark from the hospital to his house - to  _ home, _ however temporarily - puts a weirdly warm and squirmy feeling in Brent’s stomach. He can’t decide if he likes it or not, but it doesn’t go away as he glances over at Nana in the passenger seat, or looks at Mark in the rearview. There’s a feeling of absolute rightness in this moment, listening to Mark and Nana banter. 

He and Mark have spent the last few days together, getting Mark settled in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs, and setting up everything they need for Nana to be safe and comfortable. Brent had kept expecting it to feel weird, having Mark there, being husbands, especially after his weird moment in Nana’s bedroom. Instead, it feels like old times when Mark puts on loud music and dances around and prods Brent into singing. 

Brent hasn’t felt like singing in a long time, not  _ for _ anyone besides his shower tiles, anyway. He used to do that a lot, he remembers. He’d even convinced his father to let him sign up for choir if he also took up football, and he’d enjoyed it up until playing three sports a year had taken up all of his free time. And then at some point he'd just...stopped singing.

Home, he goes around to the back of the car to get Nana’s walker as Mark helps her out of the seat. “That's it, Nana. You're doing a great job,” Mark murmurs as she takes her first steps forward with help. She’d done enough hard work at the hospital that they’d been able to leave the wheelchair behind. 

Brent’s not quite sure who’s more nervous, Mark or Nana. They both look anxious as he guides her along the path to the back door. He wonders if he should suggest a counselor alongside the physical therapy she’ll be going to three times a week, and then he thinks that maybe that’s too pushy. He’s not  _ actually _ part of the family. 

Except the way Mark’s eyes meet his, full of panic and excitement and nerves as Nana pulls herself up the one step to the back porch, he certainly  _ feels _ like he’s a part of this moment. 

At the porch, she pauses, catching her breath, her cheeks rosy. Brent skirts around them to unlock the door and hold it open wide. 

“Oh, such a lovely boy. Isn’t he, Mark?” Nana sounds a little out of breath. 

“Would you like to rest in the recliner, Nana? Or maybe take a nap in bed?” Brent says, definitely not changing the subject. 

“The recliner, I think. Sitting up feels better on my hip.” 

They guide her there, and Mark gets her settled in, tucking one of her own afghans around her and showing her how they brought all of her plants so she’d never be alone. Mark leans over to kiss her cheek, so it just makes sense for Brent to copy him and kiss it, too.

They retreat to the kitchen, and Brent keeps his voice low. “If you need anything at all, or if you need me to grab anything on my way home, just text me, or call. Cell or office, Reenie’ll know to put you through.”

Mark smiles at him, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m just going to try and get some work done while she’s taking a nap. We should be okay.” 

“Still.” Brent reaches around Mark to pick up his keys, and then, like before, somehow it just makes sense to brush his lips over Mark’s cheek in parting.

They both freeze, then Mark laughs a little, breaking the moment of tension. “That’s good. We should probably practice, huh? So we don’t slip up in real life.” He returns the cheek kiss, going up on his toes just like he’d done before. And just like before, the skin Mark touches heats and tingles. 

“See you later, hubs,” Mark jokes, and Brent shakes his head, taking his chance to escape. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark loves that Brent seeks his company out.

“Hey.” 

Mark turns at the quiet word and soft knock on his bedroom door to smile at Brent. He’s still dressed in his realtor attire, looking entirely too good in his button-down, tight slacks, and tie hanging loosely around his neck. He must have ditched the suit coat already somewhere, but Mark's seen him in the whole getup and, well, Mark really had had no idea how much he's attracted to the whole suit type. Maybe when the suit's being filled out by Brent...  


“Hey! Come on in.” He turns to save his work quickly and moves to put his equipment away, but when Brent settles into the armchair in the corner by Mark’s desk, he waves Mark off.

“Please, finish whatever you need to do. I’m just going to...decompress for a little.” Brent closes his eyes, folding his hands over his stomach. 

It’s hard not to be distracted by literally everything about Brent, sitting in the chair. The way he looks tired pulls at Mark’s sympathy, the way his long legs splay out tugs at Mark’s desire, the way he sought Mark out to  _ decompress _ instead of finding somewhere quiet and alone in the huge house makes Mark feel…simultaneously proud and completely out of his depth, to be quite honest. He’s glad he can make Brent feel that way; after all, that’s why he’s here. To ease Brent’s loneliness, even just a little.

It’s been a week since they brought Nana home, and he’d resigned himself by the second day that he’s bound to break the “this ends when someone falls in love” rule. Sure, he can do the kindergarten-level mental gymnastics needed to tell himself that Brent had meant falling in love with someone else, outside of the two of them, but- 

But. 

He tinkers around on his design for ten more minutes, in between glances at Brent’s quiet body, before sending a proof off for his client. When that’s done, he sighs with the happiness that comes from being finished for the day and turns to Brent. “I was thinking we could do a little breakfast for dinner. Pancakes and bacon, maybe? Nana always used to give me breakfast for dinner when I was feeling sick.”

Brent smiles before he opens his eyes, the tired lines giving way to sun. His eyes are warm when they meet Mark’s. “I remember that.” 

Mark stands, then holds out his hand to pull Brent up. “Yeah, I thought it’d be nice after Nana’s day.” 

“It went okay at the doctor though?” Brent asks as they move downstairs. 

Mark knows he knows the answer; he’d texted Brent about the appointment earlier at his request. But it feels nice to be able to talk to someone aloud about it. “Yeah, it just tired her out. And she’s cranky, not that I blame her.” 

Nana had insisted they bring over much of her pantry supplies when she discovered that they’re both somewhat helpless in the kitchen. She likes to sit in one of the kitchen chairs, crocheting and calling out orders for whomever is cooking that night. Mark likes it when all three of them are in the expansive kitchen, because it feels most like his childhood then, and because he can see the actual physical changes it brings to Brent. He stands a little taller and smiles more when they’re both in the kitchen with him. And slowly but surely, Brent and Mark are learning to rely a little less on the frozen pizza section of Tom’s Market.

Nana’s taking a pre-dinner rest tonight, though, so he and Brent are on their own, and Mark tries not to puff up at the fact that Brent seems just as happy even though it’s only the two of them. He passes Brent the eggs, feeling confident that they’ll do fine without Nana’s help. It’s just pancakes, after all. There’s a recipe on the box of mix. 

When Brent burns his third group of pancakes, though, he groans. “I am college educated. I’d like to think I have fairly good common sense. Why the heck can’t I do this?” 

It’s adorable, the way Brent  _ still _ doesn’t cuss. Leaning against the counter, Mark runs a search on his phone, waiting until Brent has trashed the latest batch of burnt-black-yet-still-runny pancakes. “I think it’s that the heat is too high, maybe. And we need more fat in the pan? Here, read this.” 

Instead of taking the phone, Brent crowds up close to him, reading over his shoulder, and Mark gets lost for a moment in Brent’s smell. It’s like...man and woods and... _ competence? _ It’s weird, how it’s doing all sorts of things for Mark. He kind of wants to bury his nose in the man’s button-down and stay there all evening. 

“I...think I can make that work.” 

“Better you than me,” Mark manages, handing off the phone, then turning away to hide his blushing face by opening the package of bacon. He sets the pieces out on an aluminum-covered sheet for the oven, chatting idly with Brent about his day as he attempts the pancakes for the fourth time. 

“Wait, try this one. Tell me if it’s any good.” Brent spatulas a golden-brown pancake to a plate, then cuts off a bit with a fork and holds it up to Mark’s lips, all before Mark can move to do it himself. 

Mark barely remembers to concentrate on the flavor, caught up in Brent’s eyes as he hand-feeds him the pancake. “Mmm,” he hums, ducking away and averting his eyes before he can embarrass himself. “It’s great. Keep doing it like that.” 

He takes a moment to collect himself as he sets up a tray for Nana. This whole ‘you’re just here to help Brent out, so you can’t ruin things by letting him know you love him’ is...maybe going to be harder than he initially thought. 

His shower that night is especially long and hands-on, thinking about Brent watching his mouth with those warm eyes. 

Even trying to keep his libido in check, his personal lube stash gets seriously depleted by the end of the week. He has vastly underestimated the sex appeal Brent carries around with him as an adult. As a kid, he’d fallen in love with Brent’s huge heart. Brent’s retained that sensitivity today, but the wrapping it comes in is...extremely appealing. 

Especially when he comes in after a run, which he apparently does every day to help with his depression. Which means every day - morning if it’s not icy, lunch time elsewise - Mark gets to watch Brent don ridiculously snug running tights that cling to every muscle and curve. Mark knows they cling because he’s looked. Shameless, sure, but he refuses to feel very bad about it. 

And then Brent comes back, all sweaty, and stretches out on a yoga mat on the floor of the front living room, and Mark comes in to keep him company because he’s a nice friend and also because he likes to torture himself. 

The man is  _ flexible. _ And the runner’s physique looks good on him, those long legs made lean and strong. 

“You could join me if you want, I don’t mind company,” Brent says one day when he’s on the floor, leaning over his legs and holding his foot. 

“Stretching?” 

“Well-” He pauses as he blows out his breath slowly, and leans even more into the stretch. “That, or the running.” 

Mark’s sitting on the wall and looks up from his sketchbook. He’s supposed to be working on an idea for a client but instead he’s found himself doing some figure work. Brent’s figure, to be precise. “Walking’s more my speed.” 

Brent nods, slowing straightening his body, pulling his hands back up his leg. “I understand. We could, um...we could do that, too? Or instead? They put in a really nice path for the subdivision that starts about five minutes from here.” He shrugs, like he doesn’t want Mark to make a big deal out of the request. 

Mark, of course, can see it for the cry of loneliness it is. “I’d love to. Maybe between work and dinner? Then I have plenty of time to warm up before bed.” 

Brent’s cheeks darken. “It’s a date, then.”

Mark tries not to pump his fist at how pleased Brent looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short but sweet one because these boys are not short on that sweet domesticity, even if they aren't fully connecting yet!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More pining, as the boys start to fill each other in on the 20 years they've been apart. Brent continues to have, as Labelleizzy put it, "no valid heterosexual reason" to do things. :D

“So I think we left off on high school, junior year,” Mark says, swinging their joined hands between them. 

It’s the third time they’ve come for a walk out on the trail, and even though they haven’t announced their marriage officially yet, they feel it’s appropriate to hold hands. Besides, Mark’s fingers are in constant need of warming, and who is Brent to ignore them when those fingers are Mark’s livelihood?

“Hmm.” Brent tries to think back, having trouble distinguishing one year from another. “I think that’s the year I quit basketball, and everyone got super pissed at me. Yeah, that was a fun year.”

Mark wrinkles his nose. “Gross. People are gross.” 

“Agreed. What about you?” 

“Let’s see, I can’t remember much. I was one of the reverends in the school’s production of The Crucible, oh, and I was accepted into this art summer camp between junior and senior year and that’s where I got to touch my first dick. Well, I mean, one that’s not attached to me.” 

Brent laughs. “That sounds like a story.” 

“Just that boys will be boys at art summer camp, you know? His name was Justin, he looked like an emo Backstreet Boy, and I was in love.” Mark sighs dramatically, patting his heart. “And he had a very nice dick. It was a good experience, all in all, to be honest.” 

The small curl of jealousy that springs up in Brent surprises him and he struggles for a moment to shut it down. It’s so long ago, and about a kid Mark probably hasn’t seen since, and Brent’s not even gay, so it’s really just ridic-

Mark distracts him from his line of thought by squeezing his hand. “Hey, okay, so speaking of...leaving aside the fact that virginity is an archaic social construct that we all need to collectively kick to the curb, who was your first? Not that you have to tell me anything, it’s okay.” 

“No, I...it’s stupid. It was one of those things where like, my friends found out that I was still a virgin and so they hooked me up with this really nice girl at a party, sophomore year of college. Um. Her name’s Amber, and we’re still friends on Facebook. She got married a few years ago and has a couple of really adorable kids.” 

And maybe it’s telling that he can say more about his hookup after the fact than about the sex. He shrugs, feeling embarrassed. “It was okay, I guess.” 

Mark purses his lips, watching Brent thoughtfully. “I’m sorry those guys pressured you into it.” 

“It wasn’t like that, not really. I was...tired of it being a thing, my virginity. I just wanted to be done with it. Get it over with.”

“That’s an interesting attitude about sex.” Mark’s body bumps into his as they walk. Brent bristles, preparing to defend himself, but something must cross his face because Mark quickly retracts. “I mean, that’s not my attitude about sex, I guess.” 

“I’ve never really understood everyone’s obsession with sex,” Brent ends up murmuring after a short silence. 

“That’s okay, dude.” Mark smiles up at him, his face sunny despite the darkening sky. 

“It is?” 

He stops them, turning to face Brent and taking both of his hands. “It’s okay, Brent. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” 

_ It’d be easier to take that if I could at least understand myself. _

Mark shivers. It looks involuntary, but it reminds Brent of how late and dark it’s gotten. “Want to head back?” 

For a moment it looks like Mark wants to say more, but he just smiles again and nods, his hand firmly tucked into Brent’s as they stroll back. 

“I’m surprised you decided to take over your father’s business,” Mark says later as he works to chop tomatoes for their taco salads. 

Brent shrugs, growing used once again to the deeply philosophical nature their conversations could sometimes take. It reminds him of how they’d spent hours in that hammock together as kids. “You were the one who was dead set on being an artist. I had no idea what I wanted to do.” 

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I always pictured you being, like, a kindergarten teacher.” 

“Oh gosh.” Brent laughs, stirring the browning meat in the frying pan. “Children scare me.” 

“They’re not so bad. At least, when you’re allowed to hand them back to mom or dad and then go home to your nice, quiet, child-free home. I’ve got like...five little ones among all the cousins, now.” 

“Well, I’m sure thirty of them in a classroom is a different story. And no, I just...I went to Oregon State mostly because everyone was going to college, and by the time I had to pick a major, business made the most sense for taking over Dad's work.” 

“So...you’re not  _ passionate _ about realty.” Mark grins, turning around to the stove just to elbow him in the side. 

“It’s more like...why do I need to be passionate about my job? I can be passionate about other things in my life,” Brent defends. His cheeks heat when he realizes he’d looked right at Mark’s lips when he’d said it though.  _ Who’s not obsessed with sex now? _

“Fair,” Mark says with a shrug. 

“There are parts of it I like a lot, actually. Like helping someone find the perfect fit, and seeing their reaction when we close. I get to be at one of the biggest moments in a person’s life, I guess, though this is the first time I've really thought about it that way.” 

Mark’s giving him a considering look as he moves on to guacamole prep. “Still. You live in your father’s house and keep your father’s business alive, and dude, I know he was your father but I also know there’s not a whole lot of love lost there.” 

The kitchen is silent save cooking sounds for another minute or so before Brent has the right words to formulate an answer. “That might be true, but I can do what my father couldn’t, can’t I? I’m on the board to make sure that Havenwood doesn’t get overrun by developers, and my father would’ve loved to sell it all for whatever profit he could make. Maybe I stayed in the house, but look how it’s being useful for Nana and you now. And I sure as heck didn’t marry for some...some ephemeral reason like so-called love disguised as passion and not being able to keep it in his pants. Don’t mistake what I’m doing here for apathy, Mark.” 

Mark looks up at him for a beat, and then he sets the avocado down and pulls Brent away from the stove and into a hug. “It’s good to hear you say that out loud, honey.” 

A little shiver moves through Brent at the bare approval in Mark’s voice, and his heart calms in his chest. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“You’re a good man, Brent Henner,” Mark whispers in his ear. 

Brent’s arms come around Mark to squeeze him, to feel the warmth they make together when they touch. It’s the sizzle of the meat that breaks them apart. Brent pulls back to tend it, glad he hadn’t done something stupid like kiss his husband.

As an experiment, the next time Brent’s at the grocery store, he silently asks himself if he’s attracted to any of the other customers. No matter the gender, it seems, he can’t bring himself to imagine kissing any of them - or doing more - the way his body is telling his brain to kiss Mark. 

It worries him. His father hadn’t been able to control his attraction to women, and while it had seemed to make Brent Sr. happy, it sure as heck hadn’t been fun for Brent Jr. Brent’s burgeoning attraction to Mark could have disastrous consequences. There’s nothing in the ground rules about turning the relationship physical, and everything in Brent’s brain is saying that would be a horrible idea. 

And he has to take into account that he’d be devastated to lose Mark’s friendship again, especially over something so monumentally stupid as Brent wanting to kiss him for some inexplicable reason. 

Nothing happens at the grocery store, but when he gets home, Mark’s curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around him, pencil tucked between his teeth as he scrutinizes his artwork. Brent’s eyes drop to Mark’s lips once again, and if it hadn’t been for Nana doing a crossword in the recliner just feet away, Brent may have done something very, very stupid. 

Instead, he greets them briefly, then heads upstairs to slip on his workout clothes and run these feelings into oblivion.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something, as they say, has to give.

_I’m so going to hell,_ Mark thinks as he grips the shower wall with one hand and squeezes his cock with the other. He’d intended on getting this over with as quickly as possible, but he’s been lingering over thoughts of Brent’s face, flush from his run and the cold, sweaty and appealing. 

It’s becoming more of a problem than he anticipated, this all-access pass to the man he’s had a crush on for years, give or take two decades. He leans his forehead against his hand and groans quietly, sending himself over the edge by imagining Brent’s body pinning his own against this very shower wall.

The climax clears his mind a little, and lets the shame rush in. For everyone’s sake, he really needs to get himself under control. He’s Brent’s friend first, last, and always, and he can’t ruin it with this.

It’d be easier at home, maybe, if they hadn’t been spending so much time together. With the walks and dinner, Brent seems brighter than ever, but every friendly hug and nudge is slowly killing Mark. 

And they’re going public soon, which changes the game. They’ve managed to avoid it so far, using Mark’s work and Nana’s recovery as their excuse, just in case word got out, but when the paperwork goes through, and Mark’s holding a little card in his hand with Brent’s insurance number and his name on it, he knows he owes it to Brent to make sure they don’t get in trouble.

When he brings it up, Brent suggests taking him to one of the town advisory meetings. “It’ll be boring for you, probably, but it’s the fastest way to spread word of anything.” 

The next evening, Mark blows out his breath in anticipation, then takes Brent’s hand as they walk toward the community center. Brent had asked Reenie to come over and be with Nana if she needed anything, and when they’d left, the two women had been getting along easily. At least that worry won’t hang on Mark’s shoulders. 

They haven’t even gone five feet in the building before they’re stopped by the older woman Mark recognizes from the bar a couple of weeks ago. “Brent, and...Matt, was it?” She looks pointedly down at their laced fingers. 

“Mark, actually,” Brent answers, squeezing Mark’s hand. “And Mark, you remember Georgia from your first night back.” 

Mark reaches out to shake her hand again. “You’re on the advisory board with Brent, right?” He squeezes Brent’s forearm, making sure his wedding ring glints under the fluorescent lights. “I moved back a few weeks ago, when Nana fell.” 

“Oh, of course, I heard about that.” 

Brent pulls up their joined hands and presses a kiss to Mark’s knuckles and Georgia’s eyes comically widen at the glint of gold on Mark’s ring finger. “And when I saw Mark again, I just kind of realized…” 

“That we love each other,” Mark finishes, because being on the same wavelength with Brent Henner seems to be like riding a bicycle. 

“We got married last week.” Brent wraps his arm around Mark’s waist, squeezing him from behind and sending butterflies fluttering through Mark’s chest. 

“Oh my goodness! What wonderful news, Brent. That’s such a lovely story. And to think, I was right there to witness it happen!” Georgia claps her hands with delight. 

“What’s a lovely story?” 

Mark’s system jolts as he recognizes Steve O’Connor joining their little group. It’s not hard; the sneer of his childhood bully still haunts his stupid anxiety dreams sometimes. He feels his heart kick up a beat, and he looks up at Brent for guidance. 

Brent, however, doesn’t look the least bit surprised. In fact, he looks...smug. “Mark and I were just telling Georgia about getting married. We just couldn’t wait, you know?” 

“Oh? Did you elope? You have to tell me _everything,”_ Georgia exclaims. “I bet you two looked so dashing together.” 

While it’s obvious Georgia’s an ally, it’s even more apparent that the news of their marriage has dug directly under Steve’s skin. As he listens to Brent talk about their simple courthouse wedding with silly florid language, he starts to suspect that this exact moment was, in fact, manufactured by his husband. Steve looks absolutely humiliated, and Mark’s not sure why, nor is he sure that he feels great about being used this way. 

Except he just found out this morning that his monthly medication payment will be a tenth the price it was before. And Nana had mentioned how much easier she thinks it is to recover at the mansion than at her multi-level home, and Mark has barely seen that sad, lonely look in Brent’s eyes recently. 

It’s a marriage built entirely on ulterior motives, Mark supposes. While it doesn’t sit well with him that he didn’t know this one beforehand, he can’t exactly begrudge Brent finally being able to stick it to Steve O’Connor after all of the hits he’d taken for Mark growing up. 

To really sell it, Mark cuddles into Brent more closely, and smiles. “It was simple, yeah. Some would probably say it was too simple, but not me.” He looks up into his husband’s eyes. “I thought it was romantic.” 

He has to lean up onto his tiptoes because Brent’s not expecting it and doesn’t meet him halfway, but then he's brushing his lips smoothly over Brent’s, lingering just enough to give Georgia and Steve a bit of a show as if it's not the first kiss they've shared. 

Georgia coos in delight and Steve’s expression never moves past his initial anger, so it’s a win-win all around. Convince townspeople of their love to avoid insurance fraud accusations, check. 

All he has to do the rest of the evening is remember to send Brent some adoring looks - not like that’s hard to do - and smile and answer any questions with an appropriate level of newlywed-ooey-gooeyness. 

He waits to ask Brent about it until they’re in the car heading home after the meeting. “So. Steve and John, still, hmm?” He watches Brent’s fingers tighten on the wheels. 

“Yeah, they haven’t really matured past their eighth grade selves, unfortunately. But they can’t do anything to you now. Even they’re not that stupid.”

 _Leave it to Brent to think of my safety first._ “I suppose I am a Henner now. But is that what you call flaunting your gay lover in front of known homophobic assholes who know that public favor has turned against them so they can’t say anything? Mature?”

Brent’s mouth drops open like a fish, and then he sputters, “I- I- That’s not-” He shuts it back up finally, pulling into the mansion’s driveway and turning off the ignition. “That’s a valid point,” he says finally. 

“It’s okay, Brent. I’m not mad. Well, I mean, I was a little, at first, but only because we hadn’t talked about it as one of our goals. Save money, help Nana, get revenge on childhood assholes. I would've said yes.” 

“It wasn’t- I mean. It wasn’t necessarily like, my first intention or anything.” 

Mark pushes at Brent’s arm across the console. “Dude, whatever. Water under the bridge. It _was_ pretty great, seeing their faces, huh? Ohhh, fuck them so much.” He gives into the small glee he’d felt, shoving their glaring gayness in Steve’s face, even while everyone else at the town meeting had been easily and outwardly accepting of their marriage.

“Yeah. Yeah, that went really well. You did a good job.” Brent reaches over to squeeze his fingers. “I wasn’t expecting the kiss, but it was a good idea, it really sold it.” 

Mark smiles. “Yeah. Perfect plan to use an advisory board meeting. Georgia is a _gem._ She’ll have the news spread in no time, if it isn’t already, _and_ it’ll be favorable for us. I’m just imagining her telling all her girlfriends about our true romance like ‘one of her stories.’” 

He’s surprised when he looks back over at Brent to see Brent’s eyes intent on his lips, and he brings his hand up, checking for something there. Brent blinks, then seems to snap out of it, shaking his head and reaching for the car door, and Mark has the sudden realization that it’s not the first time he’s caught Brent’s eyes there. “It’s perfect,” Brent says, sounding extremely unconvincing.

“Yeah.” Mark follows behind him, trying to figure out where the weirdness came from. Maybe the kiss was too much? He knows Brent promised no ‘no homo,’ but he’d also presumably never kissed a guy before, so…

In the bustle of talking to Reenie and Nana about their night in, and getting ready for bed, Mark doesn’t think about it again until he’s brushing his teeth, and he frowns at himself in the mirror. When he walks by Brent’s room, the door is open, and he can see Brent pulling off his tie. 

He leans on the door jam, his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey, can we talk a sec?” 

Brent actually looks startled, like he’d been lost in his thoughts. “Um, yeah. Come in.” He continues to take off the tie as Mark comes to lean against Brent’s dresser. “What’s up?” 

Mark watches Brent unbutton the cuffs on his shirt and shove the sleeves up to his elbows in what looks to be a nervous habit. The move exposes the dark brown curls on his strong forearms, and Mark is momentarily distracted because...damn. “I’m here to let you off the hook.” 

Something like panic seems to flare in Brent’s eyes. “What?”

“No,” Mark reassures quickly. “I meant- nothing bad. I just meant, the ‘no homo’ clause? We can cross it off the list, it’s okay. We don’t have to kiss in public again. I can tell it made you uncomfortable.” 

“I- I told you, I’m fine with it.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the white tank underneath that hugs his chest. 

_Christ, Henner, give me a break here._

“Okay. It’s just that you don’t _seem_ fine with it. And I was thinking, we did a really good job tonight. If anyone comes knocking about insurance fraud, the entire town is going to be on the side of our loo-ooove. So if you don’t want to kiss again-” 

Mark’s cut off by Brent leaning into him, his arms wrapping around Mark’s body. Before Mark can even think, Brent’s lips are pressed against his, the strong lanky length of him pushing Mark against the dresser. It shocks the breath out of Mark, and he parts his lips to gasp, and then Brent’s pushing forward, taking advantage of Mark’s opening. Mark clutches at Brent’s tank top and tries to- tries to not do _anything_ that might spook Brent away from this, because this, right here, this is everything Mark’s ever dreamed of. 

He sighs into it, turning his head so that they can deepen the kiss. Mark’s suddenly very grateful he’s already brushed his teeth. Somehow, he manages to move his hands up until he’s got his arms wrapped around Brent’s neck, his whole body arching up toward the taller man as Brent bows toward him. 

When Brent breaks it off, they’re both panting, lips swollen. “Brent-” Mark starts, but Brent moves himself back, out of Mark’s arms and across the room. 

“I need- I need to go.” That’s all Brent gives Mark before he leaves the room. Thirty seconds later, Mark hears the back door slam. 

“Way to ruin it, Peterson,” he mutters to the empty room. 

The lights of Brent’s car flash through the window, and Mark can see in the brief illumination that it’s started to snow. Nerves rise up in his chest as he goes to check and sees that it’s coming down hard, Brent’s taillights barely visible as he drives away.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having a sexuality crisis in your 30s isn't normal, right? 
> 
> (It is, Brent, it totally is.)

The worst thing about running away from Mark is that when Brent tries to think of a safe place to go, his mind just takes him back to Mark. Frustrated with himself, with the situation, he finally decides to head to the realty office. There’s no one there to disturb him, and he keeps some overnight supplies there in case of emergencies or a snow-in. Besides, he wants to get out of the bad conditions; the snow is already sticking to the roads and an inch has accumulated by the side. 

The floor of his office is exceedingly uncomfortable, but he takes it as his penance for screwing up  _ so royally _ . He curls up on his side, ignoring the cold flooring and how it digs into his hip bone. The clock on his office wall ticks so loudly, reminding him of the hours going by without word from Mark.

He calls himself stupid when he realizes Mark can’t contact him anyway because he’d forgotten his phone at home, on his bed. He feels a small amount of guilt at that, but then he can’t decide if the silence is worse than if Mark was yelling at him, even through text. Mark has every right to be mad at him. They’d agreed on physical contact in public, and now Brent can’t handle it? And not because of some ‘no homo’ crap but because he wants more. He  _ wants. _

What- how- he doesn’t  _ understand. _ He doesn’t understand where the desire to kiss Mark over and over again came from. It’s like all of those swirling feelings he’d had over the last week had been ignited by Mark’s lips brushing against his. And Mark had just been playing a part. Mark, who has every right to expect that Brent would keep this professional, would keep the boundaries they’d set. To expect that a  _ straight _ man wouldn’t shove him against a dresser and kiss him senseless without even gaining his consent first. 

Mark probably hadn’t gone senseless, though. He’d probably been fine. It’s just Brent’s senses that are going haywire: his skin tingles and he can still feel  _ Mark _ on his lips and taste the mintiness of his toothpaste and feel the brush of his tongue. It’s Brent whose fingers ache to pull Mark back into his arms.

And  _ why? _ Why now? Brent’s never, ever heard of someone going 34 years without knowing their sexual orientation. That’s ridiculous. He would’ve- he could’ve kissed so many guys over the years, he’s had plenty of opportunities. He’d never once been tempted. Not that he’s been tempted to kiss that many women, either.

He’s not even sure he can be in the same room as Mark right now without wanting to press him right up against the nearest available wall and kiss the heck out of him. 

It’s not- it’s  _ surely _ not how it works, right?

He’s had sex with women - not many, because he's always seemed to have a lower libido than everyone says young guys are supposed to have, but it’s always been fine. Maybe it's never been fireworks and explosions like the movies make it seem, but he’s always gotten off, and gotten his partner off, and it’s been  _ fine. _

What just happened with Mark was so far beyond  _ just fine _ that he’s having trouble processing it. Just thinking of Mark’s body pressing against his has his dick tenting out his slacks uncomfortably. He reaches down to adjust himself, then lingers, his fingers teasing his cock. Suddenly he jolts, pulling his hand away. He can’t get off to the idea of his  _ friend. _

Rolling over to his stomach and pinning his hands firmly by resting his head on them, he tries to close his eyes and fall asleep. He fails, because all he can think about is how Mark’s lips felt on his, and how he wants to do it a billion more times. He doesn’t even notice he’s moving his hips to grind his dick against the hard floor for a few minutes. 

He groans, rolling over to his side and pulling down his laptop from his desk for distraction. It helps for about two seconds until he searches the term “coming out in your 30s.” There are… a lot of articles about it, actually, and he frowns, reading through them, following links until he’s down the rabbithole of terms and spectrums and scales and colors and tests. Everything leaves him more confused than ever and he's suddenly wondering if he's some sexuality label he's never even heard of before tonight. The thought scares him a little. His discoveries swirl through his head until he finally falls asleep, and once there, he dreams of Mark and himself, fourteen years old, hip-to-hip in the hammock. 

It means he’s physically sore but mentally calm when he wakes up. He digs out one of the antidepressant pills he keeps in his emergency office stash just in case, and washes his face in the bathroom. 

When he looks out the window, he realizes there’s seven fresh inches of snow to clean. He sighs, knowing he can’t leave until he’s cleared the walkway for Reenie, when all he wants to do is talk to Mark. But the work helps clear his mind, too, and by the time Reenie’s pulling in, he thinks he’s ready for the conversation he needs to have. 

“What happened to you?” Reenie asks, accepting his help in stepping out of her car. 

So the bathroom face-wash must not have helped, then. “Catching up on paperwork. Hey, I’ll be back later, okay?” 

He doesn’t catch her reply before he’s in his car and headed home. 

Mark and Nana are in the kitchen when he gets back, eating breakfast at the table. There’s a moment of awkward silence where all three of them sort of just look at each other. In a sitcom, it’d be the moment to pause for audience laughter. 

“I think I’ll finish my oatmeal in the living room,” Nana says, pushing herself up with the help of her walker. But before she heads off, she looks up at Brent, those intelligent eyes burning into his. “Young man, I expect that when you go out in a snowstorm, you’ll have the decency to tell us you’re okay, you understand?” 

Brent’s face flames, and he gulps, nodding. “Yes, Nana. I’m sorry, I forgot my phone on the bed and-”

“And wherever you ended up didn’t have a phone?” 

Brent thinks guiltily of the realty office phone sitting on his desk. “No, it did. I’m sorry. I’m not used to people caring about where I am, I guess.” 

Nana’s lips purse, looking as stern as she used to when he and Mark had done something stupid as kids. “Well, get used to it now, kiddo.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Brent quickly agrees. 

“I’ll get your breakfast stuff, Nana.” Mark turns to Brent, too. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?” 

He makes to follow Nana out of the room, but Brent lightly grabs his upper arm to pause him. “Did I- were you guys really worried?” 

Mark looks down, as if he doesn’t want to admit it. His shoulder lifts a little. “It was coming down hard and…”

“And the snow still makes you nervous. I’m sorry, Mark. I wasn’t thinking.” 

Mark pulls him into a side hug, holding out the oatmeal with his other hand. “Just stay, okay? And we’ll talk.”

Brent nods, watching him walk away. After a moment, when he can hear the low murmurs of Nana and Mark talking to each other, he starts doctoring up his own bowl of oatmeal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, the beginning of the school year is hitting me like a ton of bricks. If you have the time and energy, send some positive vibes out into the universe for all the teachers going back.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys communicate - a thing they're good at except for when they're not. :D

Mark’s fairly sure Nana can tell something’s wrong, but she doesn’t press him, so they’re just quietly eating oatmeal at the kitchen table when Brent walks in through the back door. He has a lot of feelings - anger, relief, worry, confusion. When he heads back to help Nana settle herself in the living room, he uses the time to try and figure out exactly what he’s going to say to Brent. 

_ Sorry I kissed you? Sorry I kissed you back? Want to do it again and again and again? _

Or what about  _ how could you worry me like that? Don’t you know I love you?  _

Or just  _ whatever is going on, it’s okay, dude. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. _

Nana reaches out for his hand and squeezes it. “I’m glad he’s okay. Now, whatever sent him away, you better go talk it out.” 

“On it.” 

“You boys are fine. You know that, right? What’s a little marriage between friends?” 

Mark laughs, mostly at himself, and leans over to kiss her forehead. 

When he gets back to the kitchen, Brent’s turned away from him, looking out the window over the sink. He looks like hell, like he didn’t sleep, and Mark still has no idea what he’s going to say. 

So he decides to break the ice. “I guess we should talk, huh?” 

Brent turns, huge shadows under his eyes. “It’s- uh. It’s cold out, but the sun is making it a little warm? We could go for a walk. I think I’ve got a second set of snowshoes in the closet.” 

Mark shivers involuntarily. It doesn’t look anything close to warm outside, but he nods anyway. “God, it’s been twenty years since I snowshoed. Sure. Just let me bundle up.” 

Twenty minutes later finds them snowshoeing through the manicured parts of the garden before Brent takes them off path and into the woods. Mark recognizes their trail from his childhood, but he’s still surprised when they reach their old hang out zone and there’s a bench there, inches of snow making it look a little like a white, fluffy couch instead. “No hammock?”

Brent gives him a little smile as he cleans off on the wrought-iron bench and sits down. “In the summer, yeah. Or as close as I can stand it to summer.” 

The thought of Brent lying out here, looking up at the canopy of trees, the sweet smells of summer all around him, warms Mark up. Until he remembers exactly how alone Brent must have been when he was in the hammock.

“Is it okay if I sit next to you?”

Brent looks surprised at Mark’s caution, then guilty. “Yes, of course. I’m not- it’s not like I think gay is contagious or something.” 

Mark sits, leaning back so he can look up at Brent better. Brent looks off into the woods, though, so it’s not like it matters so much to make eye contact. “Can you tell me what’s going on in your head?”

Brent gives a derisive little laugh and rubs his face. “I have no idea what the heck is going on in my head.”

Feeling a little braver, Mark nudges Brent’s body with his own. “So just spill out all the random thoughts you have. Sometimes I do that on paper, when I’m designing and I have too many ideas, I just draw them all out at once until something emerges from the chaos.” 

Brent’s quiet for a few more moments, tapping his gloved fingers against his lips. He must come to a decision, though, because he finally meets Mark’s eyes. “I- I don’t know what I am. There’s too many labels and none of them feel right, which makes me feel like a huge freak. And I guess there’s other people that don’t- don’t label themselves or don’t know these things for a long time, but it always seems like that’s because they’ve got childhood trauma about being gay or their family would have freaked or something. I just- how can I go so long without ever even  _ wondering _ ?” 

Mark thinks about what he remembers of Brent Sr., serial monogamist. He’s not sure how Brent’s father would have felt if his only son liked men, but it doesn’t seem like a false assumption to think he wouldn’t have been supportive. That’s not exactly helpful for Brent right now, though. “Everyone’s journey is different, Brent.” 

Brent reaches out, and Mark’s fingers automatically go to his. It's hard to feel Bent through their gloves, but it counts. “I know.” 

“What  _ do _ you feel? If you want to tell me.” 

“I feel like-” Brent looks down at Mark’s mouth again, and then away. “Like I want to kiss you again, just to see if it’s as good as the first two times.” 

Mark blushes, squeezing his fingers. “It’s okay to feel that and not put a label on yourself.” 

When Brent doesn’t respond, Mark wraps his arm around Brent’s waist and hugs him close. He feels Brent’s chin come down and rest in his hair. “It’s not fair to you.” 

“Explain.”

“You agreed to marry me because I’m straight. You didn’t sign up for whatever mess this is right now.” 

Mark scoffs, bumping into Brent’s side. “What the fuck, dude?” He doesn’t miss Brent’s wince at his cuss, but he doesn’t stop, either. “I’m not just going to abandon my best friend in the middle of a what, not-quite-midlife-gay-crisis? No way.” 

Brent pulls back to look at his face, his brows furrowed. “Seriously?” 

“No, I’m the one who gets to say ‘seriously’ in that tone. Who was the first person I told when I thought I liked boys and I was scared shitless about it? Who was there for me when I was so hopelessly in love with Nick Carter I thought I was going to  _ die? _ You, dude. It’s always been you. So now I’m here to return the favor. I can be like, your gay emissary. Welcome to the world of gay.” He waves his hand through the air like Spongebob making a rainbow.  Finally, Brent cracks a smile at Mark’s ridiculousness, and Mark feels a ray of hope move through his chest. “I’m just saying. This doesn’t change anything for me, okay?”

“I- you’re sure?”

“Yes, absolutely.” 

“What about-” 

Mark waits patiently as Brent works through it. 

“What if I want to kiss you again?” 

“I’d love for you to kiss me again. It was hot.”

“You won’t- I mean, you don’t think it’s crossing a line?” 

_ Well I’d rather have you kissing me than going out and kissing other random boys. _ Mark doesn’t say it, though, because that would be admitting that he’s in love with Brent, and that’s a no-go. Instead he holds up his pinky. “If you can keep it friendly, so can I. Adding a little, uh, pleasure doesn’t have to change what we have.” 

He says this with an incredible confidence he’s not sure he actually feels, but Brent looks convinced enough to shake his pinky and lean in closer. “Can I- can I kiss you now?”

“Sure,” Mark replies, suddenly breathless. 

Brent cups his face, his gloved thumb brushing over Mark’s lips right before he closes the distance between them. It’s different than before; at the meeting, the kiss had been rehearsed, and in the bedroom, it had been  _ fire. _ This is sweet, so sweet, and tender, and as gentle as Mark always expects from Brent. 

When Brent pulls back, Mark feels a little dazed at such intensity over so short a kiss. “There you go,” he murmurs against Brent’s lips. “Just like that.” 

This time he’s the one that leans forward, pressing his body against Brent’s to get as close as possible. Brent’s hand slides over his leg, pulling him, trying to get Mark into his lap without their snowshoes getting tangled together, and the sweetness gets burned away by passion. Every time he ever wondered about what it would be like to kiss Brent is blown away by the reality. He’s stiff, his cock pressing against the seam of his jeans painfully, and he’s half in Brent’s lap, and he’s fairly sure Brent’s hand is creeping towards his ass, and-

He pulls back, breathing heavily, checking Brent’s face. “How are you feeling?”

Brent doesn’t say anything, just flushes harder and squirms in his seat, making it obvious that he’s having dick issues as well.

“Yeah, me too.” Mark goes back for another kiss, but keeps it lighter, trying to bring them back to earth a little. “Listen, honey, we need to add to the ground rules if we’re getting physical, okay?” 

That clears some of the desire from Brent’s eyes, and he nods. He pulls out his wallet and slides the piece of yellow paper out, unfolding it so Mark can see his neat handwriting. “Do you have a pen?” 

This time, Brent laughs, digging in his coat pocket and coming up with a Henner Realty pen. “My McGuyver.” Mark flutters his lashes as he writes out at the bottom of the paper,  _ Kisses = okay. _ He puts his initials by it, and waits while Brent does the same. “I have something else to add, but I need you to be okay with it, or this doesn’t go any further, okay?” 

Brent’s hand is still resting on the small of his back, still half holding him in his lap. “What’s that?” 

“I’m okay with more than kissing, too, if you want that. Hands. Mouths. Other places.” He adds the last with a grin at Brent’s flush. “Is that something you’d-”

“Yes,” Brent answers quickly, his voice strangled.

“Okay. So I have two requirements about that, then. First, condoms always. Oral, anal, whatever, condoms. Second, testing. As long as we’re doing this together, I want both of us to get tested once a month.” 

Brent frowns. “I thought you were undetectable...you can’t transmit anything to me. I mean, I’m fine with that, just-” 

Mark taps the paper where it reads  _ No secret romantic relationships.  _ “We’re not exclusive, for one. Even if you tell me about other people you hook up with, this is the only way to keep everyone safe. Two, I- I don’t do unsafe sex. I’m sure you understand.” 

“Yeah. I’m okay with that. Write it down.” Brent still looks confused, and Mark wonders if he should wait and have this conversation when hard dicks aren’t involved. 

“You’re sure?”

Brent cups his cheek, then leans in to brush their lips together. “Mark, I want you to feel safe. I’ll do whatever that means.” 

Mark’s heart flutters, and he can feel a part of it that’s been shut off for six years trying to creak its way open before he shuts it down again. Taking a deep breath, he writes down the safer sex rules, and they initial them, too. 

Mark’s cell phone goes off in his pocket and they both jump apart as if they’re naughty teenagers who got caught by their parents. He pulls it out, then winces. “It’s just an alarm. Time for Nana’s daily home physical therapy.” 

Brent looks at his watch, too. “I need to get back to work.” Still, his hand cups Mark’s face and he lingers over one more kiss. “I don’t want to go back, but I need to.” 

“I get it,” Mark says with a smile. “I’ll be here. Ambassador Peterson, ready to give you the tour of Gay Central Station.” 

Brent laughs as he pulls them both up off the bench. He links their fingers together to snowshoe back, and Mark realizes that for once, he’s actually not cold. Huh.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a set up, plain and simple. 
> 
> Added tag: Meddling Elders :D

Reenie’s looking a little bit like the cat who ate the canary when Brent makes it back to work. “What?” 

“Oh, nothing, dear.” She smirks, setting her phone away. 

“Right.” 

Closing himself in his office seems like the best option, and besides, he needs to clean up his pity pile from last night, and he has some closings to push through and some inspectors to light a fire under. 

A few hours later, he hears a soft knock and looks up to see Ted Rutherford, his top contractor, at the door. “Hey, Ted, come in. What brings you around? I thought we had that meeting tomorrow.” 

Ted, a large man who epitomizes the strength and command of the job title ‘foreman,’ one of the only people that can make Brent feel small, laughs, holding out his hand and giving Brent’s a hearty shake. “No, no. My wife was telling me about your news, actually, and I thought I’d stop by and offer my congratulations.” 

_ News, right. _ Had it just been last night that Mark had kissed Brent at the meeting? Considering the events of the morning, it seems longer. “Thank you, sir. I was a little worried...you know how small towns can be.” 

Ted slaps Brent’s back and squeezes his shoulder. “Well. We know what to do with that kind of person, don’t we?” 

Brent takes a second to marvel at the progress Havenwood has made in the last twenty years. “Yes, we absolutely do.” 

“I’d offer to take you out for a drink, but my wife told me I should get you boys something different.” He pulls an envelope out of his coat pocket and presses it into Brent’s hands. “A gift based on our long friendship and mutual business dealings that I hope will continue for years to come?” 

Brent laughs at Ted’s obviousness. “Yeah, Ted, we’re not going anywhere.” 

“Good. San Diego doesn’t deserve you. Open it, open it!” 

He opens the envelope to find a handful of papers with lots of confirmation numbers on them. 

“My wife and I like to take a few weekends a year and go to Portland, visit like we’re tourists. Book a nice hotel, eat at all the best restaurants, spend a day in Powell’s, spend a day in bed, you know…” Ted elbows him in the side, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

Brent feels his cheeks flush. “Uh, yeah. Right. Of course.” 

“So we thought, newlyweds who haven’t had a chance yet to take a honeymoon…” 

“Oh, that’s really thoughtful.” He glances at the hotel confirmation papers, and realizes they’re for next weekend. “But Mark’s grandma, Patricia Peterson? I don’t know if you heard that she got hurt-”

“A weekend in Portland?” Reenie exclaims from the doorway, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, how wonderful.” 

Brent furrows his brows. “I didn’t say anything about a weekend-” 

“Sure you did.” Reenie pushes in between them, elbowing Ted goodnaturedly despite only coming up to his chest. “I’d be happy to stay in the house and keep Patty company. Maybe Pam would join us, Ted? We could make it a ladies weekend, hire someone to come do our toes, that kind of thing.” 

“That sounds like a  _ wonderful _ idea,” Ted replies, his voice overly loud. Brent wouldn’t be surprised if he actually winked right now. 

“Well, that’s settled then. You boys go off and have fun, and us ladies will sit around and get pampered.” 

Ted and Reenie bustle out, leaving Brent with his mouth hanging open and the hotel confirmation papers still in his hand.

He’s still processing when his cell phone rings. He shakes out of it when he sees Mark’s name pop up and answers. “Hey, Mark. I just had the weirdest thing-”

“Let me guess, Reenie told you that she’d keep Nana company so that you and I could go have a honeymoon weekend in Portland.”

“Uh- yes, actually, that’s exactly what happened. It seemed like a setup…”

“Oh, it most definitely was a setup. Nana and Pam Rutherford ambushed me here.” 

“I get Ted and Pam wanting to give us a gift, but I don’t understand Reenie and Nana going along with it. They know, after all.” 

“Yeah, but they hit me in my weakest spot. Nana looks so excited to have a spa weekend here. I can’t mess that up for her.” 

Brent sighs, scrubbing over his face. “No, we can’t. Okay. So I guess we’re going to Portland. You’re okay with that? I can try to wrangle separate rooms, or…”

“And risk it getting back to the Rutherfords somehow? C’mon, we’ve shared a bed before.” 

_ Not as husbands, and not when just thinking about kissing you makes me want to explode. _

But Mark’s voice is full of heated promise. “I could start giving you that tour.”

_ Play it cool, play it cool, Henner. _ “I’ll- make sure to pack condoms.” 

There’s a pause, and then Mark’s cackling laughter crackles over the phone line. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.” 

“No,” Brent allows, laughing himself. “I’m...I think it’s an understatement to say I’m way out of my depth here.” 

Mark’s voice goes soft again. “I’ll keep you safe, honey.” 

The way he says it makes Brent shiver, and he has to make excuses to hang up quickly after that. 

With the hotel weekend looming ahead of them, Mark and Brent fall into a routine. Work, dinner, helping Nana, and making out when Nana’s asleep. Or when she’s in the other room. Or when they wake up and see each other in the hallway. It’s like every kiss is just one moment of foreplay leading up to the Portland weekend. 

Their tests come back negative, with the obvious exception, but Mark’s last blood test confirmed his viral load is still undetectable, so they’re- they’re good to go. 

_ Oh. _

The reality that he’s going to be sleeping with Mark in a few days hits him like a truck. Unfortunately, he has this rather alarming realization when Mark is in his lap, kissing a spot under Brent’s ear that they’d both discovered two days ago. Brent’s entire body freezes, but before he can ask Mark to stop, Mark pulls back. 

“You okay?” 

“Um-”

Taking in his face, his stiff posture, Mark slips back over to the other seat of the love chair. They’re in the upstairs parlor, a room which Mark hadn’t even known about until he’d accidentally found it looking for a convenient spot to make out. He’d been teasing Brent about the ridiculousness of the large house mercilessly ever since. 

“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s fine. You’re okay.” 

Brent looks sharply at Mark, who looks like he’s had to say this before. “I’m- I mean, I know I’m fine.” He sighs before Mark can say anything. “Sorry, that sounded defensive.” 

Mark sits up a little straighter. God, his hair is all mussed from Brent’s hands and his cheeks are rosy and his lips swollen, and in a few days-

Simultaneously, he has no idea what to expect and a million fantasies based on what are probably bad porn stereotypes. 

“You have to talk to me, Brent. This doesn’t work, otherwise.” 

“I’m nervous about the weekend, the…”

“Sex,” Mark says bluntly. 

“I know that’s- I mean, I’m thirty-four, I haven’t been a virgin in a long time.” 

“Well, okay, I know I’ve already given you the spiel on how virginity is a social construct that’s long overstayed its welcome, but it’s perfectly all right to be nervous.” Mark raises his hand, brushing through Brent’s hair. It’s a small, comforting move, and Brent relaxes a little. “When we get there, we’ll just do whatever feels right.” 

“Sounds simple.”

Mark smiles at him. “Look at it this way. Whatever we do in bed or not, you still get to spend the weekend with your bestie. We’ll be having fun no matter what.” 

And the way he says it, Brent can believe it. He slides his hand into Mark’s. “Thanks.”

Mark leans up to brush a kiss over his cheek. It still makes Brent’s skin tingle, just like that first time on the porch. “I should get to bed.” 

Brent pulls him in for a short, sweet goodnight kiss. 

Somewhere in the last few days he’s also lost his reservations about jacking off to his best friend, and tonight is no exception. 

Halfway to Portland, singing along to the car music, Brent notices that Mark keeps looking at him from the passenger seat. “What?” he finally asks. 

“I just- I like it when you sing. You should do it more often.” 

Something about the casual way Mark says it, the way he pays the compliment and then goes back to looking at the scenery outside, makes Brent’s heart flip in his chest. 

There are lots of little moments like that in the city, too. Brent holds Mark’s hand as they stroll the streets window shopping and sipping hot tea. It feels like a natural extension of their friendship, now, this constant need for connection. 

He has his own “What?” moment in Powell’s, when Mark catches him in the process of just staring at his husband, perched on one of the climbing stools, reading a true crime book, from the end of the aisle. Mark had just been so adorably folded up and intent, Brent hadn’t been able to resist.

And then later, as they people watch in the cafe, Brent catches Mark drawing his profile in his sketchbook. He blushes, and Mark laughs. “I’m going to have to buy a pink colored pencil to really capture your essence, obviously.” 

And at dinner, they order and share a tiramisu, and Mark lets him feed him bites of the sweet cream, espresso, and chocolate. It reminds Brent so much of the kitchen, and the pancake, and realizing how much he  _ desires _ the man in front of him. 

There’s this electric current running between them on their way back to the hotel. Brent knows Mark feels it too, from the looks he keeps giving Brent. 

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” Mark promises as they wait for the elevator, leaning up to whisper in his ear. 

It makes Brent feel weak in the knees in a way he’s never felt before. 

There’s an older couple in the elevator giving them knowing looks, so Brent keeps his hands to himself when he very much wants to press Mark into the wall and keep him there with kisses. When the couple stays on the elevator and Mark and Brent exit, Brent just waits for the door to close before he follows through with his plan against the wall of the elevator lobby on their floor. 

They make it another ten rooms or so before Mark’s dragging him down for a kiss this time. 

Finally, finally they make it to their room, Mark’s back pressed against the door, his mouth on Brent’s as Brent fumbles for the keycard. He manages to get it together enough to work the stupid card lock thing, and they stumble inside. They’d prepped the room earlier, set out lube and condoms ‘just in case’ they wanted to go through with it. 

As Brent steers Mark toward the huge king-sized bed, he decides he’s not sure if he’d live if they decided  _ not _ to go through with it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubba hubba
> 
> Added tags: First Time, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs :D

Mark groans, shoving Brent’s suit coat over his shoulders. “Off, off, too many clothes.” 

“I completely agree.” Brent starts attacking Mark’s buttons. 

“Clothes are so stupid.” Mark manages to get Brent’s shirt open and for the first time, in his adult life anyway, he gets to see Brent’s chest in all its glory. “Oh, man.” 

It’s not overly muscled or anything, Brent’s a runner, not a body-builder, but there’s this smattering of brown curls over his pecs that Mark definitely wants to rub his face in, and tan nipples that are already pebbled and peaked, and a trail of hair tapering down below the waistband of his pants that Mark wants to follow _with his tongue._

“Oh, man,” he moans again, leaning forward and diving in. He teases one of Brent’s nipples between his teeth, and his hands come to claim, to take, to scratch through the hair on Brent’s stomach and pull him closer. 

Brent makes an unintelligible noise, then pulls back. “I just have to-” 

Mark suddenly realizes that in his hurry, he hadn’t undone the cuffs on Brent’s shirt, and it’s basically acting like a straight jacket now, keeping Brent from doing anything. Mark snorts, then snickers, then, when Brent starts laughing, too, cracks up, his eyes streaming. 

“You’re the worst,” Brent says, still laughing. “You stay over there and get undressed and I’ll stay over here.” 

“M’kay,” Mark agrees easily. God, he feels drunk, his limbs uncoordinated and shaking with want as he pulls his clothes off. Part of the problem is he only has eyes for Brent’s body as it’s slowly revealed, and that means he can’t concentrate on his own clothing. 

But soon enough they’re standing before each other, naked but for briefs, taking each other in. Mark feels a sudden sense of vulnerability, being Brent’s first male partner. “I- uh. You still want to, with this?” he asks, sweeping a hand down to encompass his body. 

Brent seems to shake himself, then closes the distance between them. “Are you kidding? You’re- you’re gorgeous.” 

He’s not, really, he’s pale and skinny and lumpy in weird places, but Brent doesn’t seem to notice any of that at all. At least, according to the bulge in his underwear, his interest certainly hasn’t flagged. He reaches out tentatively, and Mark does his best not to shy away or be insecure. It helps that the look on Brent’s face is all reverence, as he slides his hands over Mark’s arms, across his stomach, up his back. 

Eventually Mark joins him, or reflects him, tracing over the long, lanky lines of Brent’s running body. Every little bit of Brent is appealing to Mark, not that this is a surprise. This is Mark’s dream - wet dream - come true. Never in a million years would he have bet on Brent Henner, standing before him, wanting and willing and hard. 

“What do you want to do?” Mark whispers, his hand sliding over the bulge in Brent’s briefs. 

“If you-” Brent gasps when Mark squeezes gently. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come in about ten seconds.” 

Mark hums, squeezing again, then rubbing a little. “Maybe we should get one out of the way for you. Get you all calmed down.” 

Brent lets out a strangled cry, shuddering. He doesn’t come, though, even as Mark continues to move his hand. “No, I- I want this to last.” 

Mark moves his hand away, gripping Brent’s hip instead. “Why don’t we move to the bed?”

They tumble there together, limbs already entangled, mouths joined. Brent ends up on top of him, which Mark is perfectly okay with as long as his hands are free to stroke and pinch and manipulate. Everywhere their skin touches feels hot, burning, and Brent’s mouth hasn’t left his in minutes. It’s everything they’ve been doing at home but one step farther, and now Mark wants to see if Brent can push again. 

“I want to blow you,” he whispers in Brent’s ear, because he figures Brent’s probably gotten a blow job before, if not from a man. It’s more than likely not unfamiliar territory. 

Brent freezes, then nods rapidly. “Yes. Yes, yes please.” 

Mark laughs, pushing Brent over to his back. “Wait right here, honey. God, you look good.” He reaches for the condoms, ripping the packet open with the use of his teeth. He crawls back over to Brent, unable to believe on some level that this is really about to happen. 

Brent’s chest is flushed, his nipples peaked, his lips swollen. His eyes are dark, mouth open just a little as his breath is coming faster. “So fucking good.” 

Mark parts Brent’s legs and kneels between them, pushing them farther apart. He leans over Brent’s body, kissing down his chest, touching everywhere, and eventually reaching the waistband of his soaked briefs. With a smirk up at Brent, he hooks his thumbs under the band and pulls down, letting Brent’s cock pop out and slap against his skin. “Mmm, gorgeous.” 

He steadies Brent’s dick with one hand, jacking it a little just to watch Brent squirm, then slides the condom down with the other hand. As soon as it’s in place, he takes Brent in his mouth. The groan from above is music to his ears. He rolls his tongue around the head, using his hand to keep stroking steadily. Even through the latex, Brent is warm steel, a heavy weight on his tongue. He feels the sheets move, and looks up to see Brent clutching at them with both hands. Groaning, purring around Brent’s cock, he readjusts his weight so he can grab one of Brent’s hands and bring it to his hair. 

“Really?” 

Mark pulls off long enough for a rough-sounding, “Yeah. Don’t push me down farther, but I like my hair pulled.” 

Brent’s fingers tighten in his hair deliciously, but he does exactly how Mark directed, never fucking Mark’s face, never pushing Mark farther than he wants to go. Mark puts his everything into it, bobbing, stroking, using his free hand to nudge over Brent’s balls, then rub at his perineum. He’s not going to go for penetration, not without talking about it first, but the way Brent shudders at the indirect stimulation to his prostate through his perineum makes his fingers itch to try. 

Brent arches up suddenly, and Mark pulls back, stroking him all the way through his orgasm. It’s amazing to watch Brent come apart. Mind-blowing. Life-changing. Brent melts back down to the bed, his eyes dazed, his face flushed, his stomach still twitching. 

Seeing him so wrecked brings Mark close to the edge, and he starts jacking himself lazily, not sure how he wants to finish. Brent makes the decision for him, though, pushing him over to his back. “Now I’m doing you.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to, Mark. I promise.” Brent grins, wickedly and pulls Mark up for a rough kiss. “Your voice- like that. All raspy. It’s- God, it’s doing things to me, Mark. Makes me want to do all those things to you.” 

The worry in the back of Mark’s mind that Brent wouldn’t be into this, or would only want to get his pleasure and no more, happily fades out of existence as soon as Brent tosses his condom and grabs another for Mark. He’s a little sloppy, sliding it over Mark’s dick, but it works. 

“Yeah, honey, just like that.” Mark lets his legs fall open for Brent, then senses Brent’s hesitation. “Just do what feels good to you, on me, honey. Or we can do something else, too. No pressure.” 

“No, I just...really like it when you tell me what you want.” Brent breathes out, obviously trying to steady himself. “Keep doing that.” 

Mark’s cock twitches. “Yeah, I can do that.” He pulls Brent in for a kiss, then lets him move back. “Find a comfortable position for yourself. I like between the legs but some people like to the side.” He waits, watching as Brent chooses the side - he’s too long to do otherwise comfortably, Mark realizes. “Spit in your hand and stroke me a little, get a feel for me. The first time is all about getting to know your partner.”

He bites his lip as Brent complies, his large warm hand closing over Mark’s shaft and pulling upward. “Yeah, perfect,” he manages, breathing out. “Now take me in. Just the head at first. See what I feel like on your tongue.”

He’s surprised he doesn’t come the second Brent’s mouth closes around him. He’ll certainly be jacking off for the rest of his life to the image of Brent’s lips making an O around his cock. 

“Take me however deep you want. Your choice, it just depends on what you can handle- Oh-fuck-” 

Apparently what Brent lacks in experience he wants to make up with enthusiasm. Mark’s eyes roll into the back of his head when he feels Brent swallow around him. Of course the man is an oral savant. Just his fucking luck. He’s already the love of Mark’s life, does he have to give amazing head, too?

Mark twitches when Brent chokes a little and pulls back, apparently finding his limit and sticking to it. He’s forgetting to give directions, but Brent is obviously getting it anyway, his mouth moving over Mark’s cock like he’s been doing it for years. Or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s _Brent_ means Mark isn’t analyzing technique too closely. It doesn’t matter, because then Brent twists his wrist a certain way and Mark’s coming, shooting into the condom as Brent strokes him and watches his face. 

“Just like that-just like- okay, that’s good. That’s good, sensitive now. C’mere.” He pulls Brent up for a kiss. He tastes latex again but doesn’t care, he needs the connection of Brent’s lips on his. “So good, honey. That was so good.” 

Brent grins, his eyes shining with pleasure and happiness. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. C’mere.” Mark disposes of his condom, then pulls Brent in to cuddle. He runs his hands down Brent’s sweaty back and keeps kissing him. 

When their hearts have settled a little, Mark sweeps Brent’s sweaty hair back from his face. “So? What did you think?” 

Brent wraps his arms around Mark and hugs him close. It’s a little ridiculous, Brent’s large body wrapping around his own, but Mark loves it, loves being surrounded by Brent. “I think...I want to do that again. A lot.” 

Mark laughs. “We can make that happen.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys continue to enjoy their weekend. 
> 
> Tags added: Frottage, Anal Fingering

When Brent wakes, his hand is resting on Mark's stomach, the softness of his husband's pajama shirt brushing at his fingertips. At some point in the night of talking and touching and exploring, Mark had shivered, then insisted on bundling up in his flannel sleepwear. Now he's spooned up in Brent’s arms, sound asleep, radiating warmth. It makes Brent smile, Mark’s little quirk about temperature; of course, he'd be highly offended if he heard Brent call it a little quirk. 

They'd woken up earlier at Mark's pill alarm, just long enough for Brent to get them a glass of water to share to take their pills with. They'd only fallen asleep a couple of hours before that, and Mark had been mostly nonverbal as he dug out his pill. He'd curled right up against Brent, pulling Brent’s arms around him to spoon him again. He’d fallen asleep in less than a minute. It had taken Brent longer as he struggled with his thoughts. Now that he's seen Mark fully, been with Mark this way, everything seems different. He can't even lay his fingers idly against Mark's stomach without remembering their second round last night, when Mark had talked him through stroking them together in one of his big hands.

Despite coming twice last night, he feels himself stir as he thinks about it. He buries his face in Mark’s neck, trying to tame his feelings; there’s no reason Mark should have to wake up to his hard cock and assume Brent has expectations. He scoots his hips back and away. 

“Mmph, no honey, that feels nice.” Mark’s hand reaches back to Brent’s hip to hold him in place. 

In place, as in his cock, fully stiff now, pressing against Mark’s ass. 

“I thought you were asleep,” Brent mumbles, trying to hold back from moving. 

“I was. Having the best dream, too.” Mark rolls his hips back, making his ass move tantalizingly against Brent’s cock. 

Brent holds back a groan. “Mark-“

“Wanna fuck my thighs?”

_“Mark.”_

Mark snickers, turning around to pull Brent down for a kiss. “It’s okay, you know. You can want this.”

“I don’t know how to _not_ want this,” Brent answers truthfully. He drops his head, pressing kisses on Mark’s neck, under his ear. It’s delicious to feel Mark’s shiver. “I don’t know how to not want you.”

“Well, here I am.” Mark’s voice sounds quiet, almost shy, but when Brent checks his face, it’s soft and relaxed. And then something changes, his features almost hardening, and Mark leans over to grab a condom. “You should fuck my thighs. It’s great.” 

It confuses Brent, a little, that sudden change. But then Mark’s looking up at him, a question on his face, and his hip is warm under Brent’s hand, and yeah, some pressure on his dick sounds amazing right now. He accepts the condom from Mark. 

Smiling, Mark pulls him down for a kiss, continuing to grind his delectable little ass against Brent. It’s easy to fall into it all again, to melt into Mark’s kiss, to sink into his embrace. He tries to think if he’s ever felt this way waking up next to any of his previous lovers, but it’s an easy answer. Mark isn’t like any of them, and not because he’s a man. Mark is Mark. 

And Mark pushes him back a little. “You take care of the condom, I’ll get myself ready, okay?” 

“Yeah.” He’s already breathless. When Mark starts removing clothing, it only gets worse. He pulls his shirt off, and his nipples are already peaked - could be desire, but knowing Mark, probably from cold - and Brent’s never been much of a chest guy but Mark- well. Mark is Mark. Mark’s skinny, yeah, and soft, and so exceedingly lovely Brent would be willing to ruin the environment heating his house to the temperature it would take for Mark to walk around naked all day. 

“Condom,” Mark reminds him softly, kneeling on the side of the bed, his cock jutting out, his lips tipping up in a smile. 

“Right.” Hurriedly, Brent shucks his own pajama pants and rips the packet open. 

He watches as Mark lays down beside him, grabbing a bit of lube and lifting up his leg to spread it between his thighs. He gets sidetracked, maybe, stroking his cock before returning to make sure he’s ready for Brent. The small, casual move leaves Brent breathless and wanting - needing - more. Mark gives one glance over his shoulder and that’s all it takes for Brent to slide back into the spooning position. 

Mark leans his head back. “You feel so fucking good.” 

“You- you do too,” Brent says, his breath catching as he slides his cock between Mark's warm thighs. 

Mark actually laughs at him, then turns it into a groan when Brent’s cock slides along the bottom of his. “You know, honey, I’m going to get you to cuss one day. Mark my words.” 

He squeezes his thighs together, and Brent almost tells him that it’s not actually going to be that hard to do if he just keeps that up. He sets a pace, feeling Mark’s ass flex along with his thighs. As good as he’s feeling right now, he’s actually distracted by the idea of sinking _into_ Mark instead. It seems shockingly intimate, and yet-

His thumb brushes between Mark’s cheeks, and Mark shudders. He tosses the lube over his shoulder. “Yeah, fuck- please. Finger me?” 

Brent groans. “You have too much confidence in my ability to do two things at once right now.” 

Mark sends him a smirking glance over his shoulder, tightening his thighs again to squeeze Brent’s cock. “I believe in you.” 

Brent laughs, retaliating by biting the nape of Mark’s neck. It’s weird, how much _fun_ he’s having, even when every nerve ending feels sensitized and everything feels so intense. 

He slows his thrusting to lube a finger and slide it down to Mark’s hole. “Tell me?” he whispers in Mark’s ear. 

Mark nods a little frantically. “Yeah, yeah, uh. Circle my rim with your finger. Get me nice and wet.” 

It’s not like Mark’s words are porn worthy but they make desire burn through Brent’s system. How had he missed this his entire life? How is this _so good?_ He loses himself in the feeling of his finger slipping slowly inside Mark; he even forgets to move, though Mark’s legs are keeping him trapped and warm and just on the edge of explosion. The pleasant distraction fades into the background as he concentrates on drawing out more moans from Mark even as Mark keeps whispering instructions to him. 

The first time he hits Mark’s prostate is a revelatory moment for Brent. He feels how Mark stiffens with pleasure against his body, and the sound Mark makes - a gasping groan, followed by a breathy, “Yes, there, please, more,” electrifies Brent as he’s never felt before during sex. 

It makes him beyond determined to bring Mark to peak before he comes himself. 

“Brent, honey- so good.” 

He _loves_ the casual endearment, loves the desperate whine in Mark’s voice. 

Mark’s hips move back, chasing Brent’s finger, trying to get more stimulation even as he strokes himself. It’s Brent’s teeth grazing over the space below Mark’s ear that finally sends him over. Brent holds him through it, loving every moment of Mark’s orgasm, from the groan of pleasure to the sigh of contentment. 

Mark’s hand reaches back to close over his hip. “C’mon. Fuck me. I know you want to come.” 

Brent groans, wrapping an arm around Mark’s waist and hauling him closer, then setting a brutal pace, frotting between Mark’s thighs. It’s hot and dirty and perfect, Mark encouraging him and kissing him and egging him on. 

With a cry that he drowns in Mark’s shoulder, he comes, shuddering and shaking. His mind goes completely blank with bliss, with the amazing wonderfulness that is his Mark wrapped in his arms. 

When Mark moves out of his arms, Brent groans, allowing one eye to open to figure out what he’s doing. “Where’re you going?” 

Mark’s laugh echoes through the space of the bathroom. “Saving your ass - well, your dick. Here.” He tosses a warm washcloth at Brent’s face, and he catches it without thinking. Mark’s already taken off his condom, and he cleans himself efficiently. The inside of his thighs are wet and pink and Brent’s cock valiantly tries to harden again at the evidence of their act. He just quiets it down by cleaning, too. 

Washcloths tossed aside, Mark nestles back in against Brent, chest to chest this time, his head tucked under Brent’s chin. “There, that’s better. Give me some of the blanket, will you? Maybe all of it?”

Smiling to himself, Brent pulls the comforter over. He finds Mark’s discarded sleep shirt in the process and hands it off to him, knowing Mark’ll need it now that they’re not working up a sweat.

“Mmm, my hero.” Satisfied, Mark snuggles in again, and Brent holds him close, relishing the feel of their legs tangling together. 

“We should get some breakfast, probably,” Brent murmurs.

Mark mock-groans in disgust at the idea. “We’re in the honeymoon suite. No one actually expects us to set foot outside today, do they?”

“So you’re saying you want to order room service?” 

“I’m saying your very generous contractor put this hotel room on his card and told us to do whatever we wanted. I have to assume that includes room service, since all four of them very heavily implied that we’d be so busy fucking.”

Despite everything that has transpired, Brent blushes. Why _had_ Nana and Reenie been so insistent when they knew the truth? 

The truth that he and Mark aren’t married for real. That someday Mark will find an amazing, undamaged man who believes in love and marriage and everything that makes Brent nauseated. 

He can actually feel his mood start to sink, and he tries to cling to the euphoria he’d felt only moments before. 

And then Mark smiles and says something and Brent has to focus back in. He shoves the weird feelings aside. He can talk to his doctor about more meds, but it’s fine. He’s always been an extremely high functioning depressed person. He’ll continue to function just fine.

“What was that?”

“Oh I see, we’re already lapsing into marriage stereotypes, hmm? I’m going to be the nag and you’re going to be the one who doesn’t listen?” But Mark’s smiling, not actually upset, and Brent can play it off by leaning in to kiss him thoroughly. When they pull apart again, Mark’s hand rests on Brent’s chest, his fingers playing with the hair there. “I was saying, we should get pancakes. I’m very fond of pancakes, and you feeding them to me.”

And maybe Brent is a terrible husband and person, but at least he can do _this._ He can do what Mark asks of him, and right now, Mark wants him to be teasing and light. He feels his mood shift, covering the depression under a thin veneer of happiness that will probably erode if poked too much. “I’ll call it in.”

They finally manage to drag each other out of the hotel room to go for a walk in the afternoon and exercise sore muscles. It’s just like spending an afternoon with Mark normally, except their hands are linked the entire time. Despite his earlier mood, it’s a lovely way to spend an hour, Brent thinks. He’s happy for the habit they started in Havenwood.

He’d be happy to make a habit of it for a long, long time, and that thought is way less scary than it should be.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the fantasy weekend is over, how should Mark and Brent act together?

Tucked in the passenger side of Brent’s Subaru, Mark uses the drive home to observe his husband. He loves when Brent winks at him, then turns the radio up to sing along. Knowing that Brent feels comfortable doing that for him, just because he complimented him on the ride over, makes Mark’s heart swell. 

“I’ve always had a thing for singers, you know.” 

Brent pauses to grin at him. “Oh?” 

“Second guy who made it into my pants in high school, Logan? Definitely the teen heartthrob of the entire school. He could make every girl swoon, singing a solo. Voice of an angel, and all that. They didn’t know they were barking up the wrong tree, though, because he was super closeted. Still, we had some good times.” Mark smiles at the memory. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Secret key to Mark’s pants: singing.” 

“Oh, honey, after this weekend, there’s no secret now. You’re welcome in my pants anytime.” It’s Mark’s turn to wink, and he laughs at Brent’s blush. Too cute for words. 

Nana’s excited to show him her mani/pedi when they get home, and drills him with questions about his weekend away. She has this mischievous light in her eyes that should probably worry him, but honestly, the last two days have been too good to have anxiety about. 

He’s sitting with Nana, showing her some of the sketches he’d done over the weekend, when Brent brings their bags in from the car. He gets distracted, watching Brent’s arm muscles work under the load. He knows those arms intimately now. Those arms have held him as he shuddered through an orgasm. That mouth has been on his cock. Those eyes have met his, totally blissed out, pupils blown. It’s more satisfying than Mark could have ever dreamed. 

Nana’s giving him a knowing look, and he snaps back to attention, changing the non-subject by pointing out another drawing and carefully avoiding the pages he’d spent sketching Brent’s body in the hotel’s bed, artfully draped in sheets. 

There are some things Nana doesn’t need to know. 

He’s nervous, that first night, when he knocks lightly on Brent’s door. Brent answers it shirtless, his pajama pants riding low on his hips, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Absolutely delectable. “One sec,” he mouths around the toothpaste, then goes to rinse it out in the en suite. In just a few seconds, he’s back out to meet Mark. “What’s up?” 

“I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to…” Mark frowns at himself. Normally he’s not so hesitant, and so he forces himself through the statement. “I was wondering if you wanted to spend the night together. We could sleep, or...whatever.” 

Brent cups Mark’s hips and pulls him closer, dropping a minty kiss on his lips. “I’d love to sleep. And whatever.” 

Mark hums, bringing Brent back down for another kiss. His hands drop to Brent’s ass, grinding their cocks together as he squeezes Brent’s cheeks. 

“Mmph-” The rest of Brent’s noise is lost between their lips, and he starts walking them back to the bed. When Mark’s legs hit the mattress, they tumble down together, Brent’s body covering his. “I- would you want to- I mean.” 

Mark cups Brent’s face, getting him to focus. “What do you want to do? Because whatever you’re about to ask for, I probably want to, too.” 

Brent takes a shaky breath, obviously steadying himself. “I want you to finger my- to finger me.”

Mark can’t help that his eyebrows fly up his forehead. “Really?” 

“Is that...is that a bad thing?” Brent frowns. 

“No, oh my god, no. It’s a good thing. A very good thing. A great thing, even. You’ve never done prostate stuff, have you?” 

Brent shakes his head. 

“Ohhhh, honey. This is going to be fun.” He pushes Brent to his back, then leans down to nip at Brent’s ear. “I’m going to take such good care of you.” 

“I know you will.” 

“Just lay back and relax. Relaxing is key.” 

Amazingly, Brent does relax, smiling up at him. “I put the lube and condoms in the drawer.” 

“What a boy scout.” Mark straddles Brent, weighing him down as he leans over to grab the items they need from the bedside table. “But we’re going to lead up to it slowly.”

He tosses the items to the side for the moment, content to run his hands up Brent's chest and take him in. He loves the feeling of Brent's warm skin against his hands, and the way his chest hair tickles a little. Sighing, he leans over and presses their lips together. Brent opens easily for him, as naturally as if they've been kissing like this their entire lives. “Mhmm, honey, just like that.” 

He doesn't miss the way Brent shivers at the endearment, and that's fine by Mark. He can “honey” the hell out of Brent if that's what he wants. He'd love nothing more than to give Brent everything he wants. 

Brent's hands are squeezing his ass, again, and it's enough to remind Mark to move on. Sighing, he kisses down Brent's neck and chest, stopping for a moment to give some attention to those lovely nipples. There's nothing sweeter, Mark has come to find, than the sounds Brent makes when they're making love. 

Mark continues to work his way down Brent's body. When he pulls the waistband of Brent's pajamas down, he discovers Brent had been going commando, and his own cock hardens further. “Wanted to be ready for me, huh?” 

Brent's eyes are warm and hooded as he looks down at Mark. “I was hoping you'd come tonight.”

“Oh I plan on coming tonight.” Mark smirks, but then he surges up to brush his lips over Brent's again. Straddling Brent like this, it’s so easy to forget his earlier anxiety about knocking on Brent’s door. “So sweet for me, honey. Like I could stay away.” 

The praise makes Brent blush, a shy smile lifting his lips, which makes Mark want to take him apart and wreck him even more. 

God, in all the hours he'd spent fantasizing about Brent, he'd never imagined Brent being sweet and pliant in bed. It's a role Mark's past lovers tended to want to push him into, and for the most part, he'd been okay with that. Now, though, given the opportunity to take care of Brent the way Brent has always taken care of him? Mark can't help but be turned on by Brent's willingness to let him. 

“You're so good for me,” Mark whispers, and he knows he means it in all of the possible ways it could be taken. 

“Mark-” Brent's voice is soft and wrecked already. 

“Yeah, honey?” 

“Want it…”

Mark sucks a bruise along Brent’s collar bone that will be hidden by his shirt, for the propriety of work. “I'm getting there.” 

Still, the restless pleasure in Brent's limbs has him moving down again, spreading Brent's thighs open wide. His hole is tight, untouched, and Mark can't wait to- 

But condoms first. Hypersensitive, he's been watching Brent every time to see if he objects to the extra protection, but Brent just sighs as Mark's strong hand slides it down over his cock. Something inside Mark soothes and quiets even as he slips his own on. 

He grabs the lube, getting two fingers slippery in preparation. “The key is to relax, okay? This is going to feel so good, I promise.” 

Of the handful of men Mark’s been with, only one other had wanted this. Mark’s happy either way, really. In his position now, he can just imagine opening himself up instead, sitting down on Brent’s cock, and riding until they’re both out of their minds. But this, this is good too, circling Brent’s rim with one finger. He keeps his other hand on Brent’s hip, rubbing him in small, comforting circles to soothe him. The movement is as soft as his voice as he coaxes Brent into relaxing and opening for him. 

When he gets the tip of his finger into Brent’s heat, he smiles. “Just like that. So good for me.” He doesn’t miss the way Brent seems to blossom under his praise.  _ Oh my, yes, I’m going to use that against you in the best way possible.  _

Brent watches him, eyes hooded, little sighs escaping his lips as Mark strokes inside. He opens up so sweetly, Mark thinks, and he can’t resist scooting up to press a kiss to his flat stomach. His lips bump Brent’s cock there, and Brent groans, wrapping a hand around himself. Whether he’s steadying his cock or trying not to come, Mark has no idea, but it’s fucking hot, and Mark places butterfly kisses all along the shaft and Brent’s fingers. “Gonna make yourself feel good for me?” 

“F- Mark-” 

_ Oh, so fucking close to success. _

Mark keeps up his soothing voice egging Brent on as he slips another finger in beside the first and starts to search for Brent’s prostate. Brent’s hips twitch, then thrust toward him, trying to take more of him inside like Brent’s a fucking natural bottom, and that, Mark can work with. He scissors and twists until he swipes over the bundle of nerves and Brent cries out, then covers his mouth with his hand. They’re not in some anonymous hotel room anymore, and Nana’s right downstairs. They’re here, at home, fucking in their own bed, like a married couple would, and the feeling of rightness swamps Mark all at once. 

“That’s it, honey. Just like that. Keep stroking yourself for me.” He matches up the pressure of his fingers with Brent’s movements. He looks away from the tantalizing sight of Brent’s cock to find that Brent’s eyes are squeezed shut against the pleasure, his mouth hanging open and chest heaving. He’s an absolute picture, one that Mark wants to see again and again. 

When Brent stiffens, his hand shuttling over his cock, his hole clenching down on Mark’s fingers, Mark can’t be blamed for the sound of desire that drops from his lips. He keeps stroking over Brent’s prostate all through his orgasm until he shies away in oversensitivity. 

Mark watches the euphoria sweep through Brent’s body, and he has a fleeting thought as he strokes himself that he’d love to come all over Brent, mark him up, let Brent know how taken he is. His hand stutters at the dangerous thought, and it holds him back from the edge for a moment.

Then Brent whispers,  _ “Mark-” _ with his voice all wrecked, body gorgeously spent, and that’s enough to send him over. He squeezes the head of his cock as he comes, groaning. 

In the glowy aftermath, when they’ve cleaned up and they’re back in bed in their pajamas, Mark rests his head against Brent’s bare chest and gets caught up thinking about his fantasy from before, of coming all over Brent. He’ll have to remember to keep a clear head in the future, because that’s going to have to stay strictly in the fantasy realm. He can’t- he  _ won’t _ get caught up again. He can’t let that happen.

If Brent were to- his heart cuts his brain off to scream  _ It’s impossible. Brent would never! _ But Mark’s learned he can’t trust his heart; it had told him  _ Ashton would never, _ too, and look what happened then. His brain is more savvy, so he’s going to listen to it over his heart. 

This way, he doesn’t even open up the possibility of Brent betraying him, and that’s better for everyone involved.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reenie pokes Brent into thinking about an uncomfortable truth. 
> 
> cw: panic/panic attack

Reenie’s already smiling when she greets Brent outside the realty office. He’s not quite sure where she finds the optimism, but then again, he could tell when he’d woken up this morning that it’s going to be a bad depression day after the high of the weekend away, and that was  _ before  _ he’d left the house and seen the state of the roads after a night of snow. Leaving Mark’s arms this morning had been especially bittersweet. 

“How was Portland?” 

Despite how down he’s feeling, his face automatically warms at the thought of how they’d spent the weekend, and he can’t quite meet Reenie’s eyes when they open the realty office together. “It was fun. Thank you for your part in orchestrating that.” 

“It’s nice having Mark back in town, huh? Patty’s over the moon having him here, broken hip be damned.” 

He sets his stuff in his office, then walks back to set Reenie’s white chocolate mocha on her desk. On Mondays, he picks up drinks for the both of them. “Yeah, she seems really happy.” 

“Has he talked about San Diego?” 

He really doesn’t like this line of questioning, and he fidgets with his keys in one hand as he sips his own latte. “Not much. I mean, yeah, we’ve talked a lot about the years we missed with each other.”

“About going back?” Reenie looks only mildly curious, one of her biggest talents whenever she’s trying to root out the gossip. 

It still makes Brent frown. “No, he hasn’t said anything yet about going back.” 

“Patty says he’s an artist. You know the tourists here are always looking for local flavor.” 

“I don’t know if he’d- I mean, he can do his work anywhere, so he doesn’t really have to find a job here.” Frustrated, he turns away, organizing the already neat rental fliers in the stand by the door. “This - our marriage - is just a temporary thing, Reen. It always was and it always will be, that’s the story. Mark doesn't have to stay.” 

“It just seems like you boys are getting along so well. If it’s working-” 

Brent laughs derisively, looking out the window to the softly falling snow. “Just because it’s working now doesn’t mean it will be a month from now, or a week, or tomorrow. You found that out with Dad.” 

“You are not your father.” 

Brent looks pointedly at the  _ Henner Realty _ logo printed on the window. “All signs point to…” 

Reenie crosses over to stand in front of him, mostly just to fold her arms over her chest and frown so that he knows she’s really annoyed with him. “Just because you took over his business doesn’t mean you’re him. Believe me, I’d know.”

“Reenie, Mark and I built the ability to meet other people into this arrangement. The weekend away was nice, and necessary to protect ourselves from insurance fraud allegations, and that’s it. It doesn’t make this real, no matter how much you and Patty want it to be. That’s something all of us should remember, it seems like.” 

The front door bell dings, and Brent turns toward the couple walking in, relieved at having the conversation cut off so abruptly. “Hello, how can we help you today?” 

He’s not being a pessimist, Brent justifies later as he’s caravanning with the couple out to a few of his listings. He’s  _ not. _ And he’s sure there are a lot of people who would back him up. Just because- just because his fingers have  _ been inside _ Mark, just because he knows now what Mark looks like when he’s all sated and content from coming, doesn’t mean their arrangement has become any more permanent. 

Besides, he knows Mark understands. It’s obvious that Mark’s using the condoms as an excuse to not get too close to Brent, and vice versa, and Brent appreciates it. It’s really paramount that everyone remembers this is all just a thing that’s going to go away eventually. 

He has a really hard time remembering that later that night, though, when he’s sharing the kitchen table with Nana and Mark, their simple meal of roasted root veggies and pork chops delicious and filling. Mark and Nana are teasing each other back and forth about something, and even though Brent can feel the heaviness of his depression weighing him down, it does lighten his mood a bit. He even smiles and laughs, though he knows that the amusement he’s showing doesn’t reach all the way to his heart. There’s nothing to be done, though. The only way out of this type of depressive episode is through it.

Later, as he’s scrubbing the dirty dishes, Mark’s arms come around his middle, and he can feel him press a kiss between his shoulder blades and lay his head there. 

“How’d the PT go?” Brent asks, continuing to scrub but enjoying the heaviness of an entirely different kind - Mark's body - weighing him down instead. 

Mark hums, rubbing his face against Brent’s sweater. “I think I could fall asleep right here, just like Nana’s already asleep in there. It was good. She’s doing really well and I’m so proud of her. She just gets frustrated, I think, at not being able to do what she used to do right away.” 

He slips around to Brent’s side, nestling in there and then helping dry the washed dishes. Brent can’t help but lean down and brush a kiss over his forehead. “I get that. I broke my arm a couple of years ago, and-” 

“You broke your arm in fourth grade, I remember.” 

Brent smiles at Mark’s interruption, bumping their hips together in retaliation. “Well, yeah, but I also broke it a few years ago, and what I was going to say was that it was way worse having a broken arm in my thirties than when I was 10. So I can imagine just a little of what Nana is going through in her seventies.”

Mark brushes his wet fingers lightly over the fine hairs on Brent’s arm as if he’s trying to feel for the old break. “I’ve never broken anything. Is it silly that it terrifies me?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly recommend it.”

“I still remember the sound you made.” Mark looks up to meet his eyes. “I don’t think I ever rode my bike faster in my life.” 

“We shouldn’t have been climbing that tree, probably.” There’s something addictive about Mark’s concern for him, even if it’s concern over an injury long since healed. 

“How’d you do it the second time?” 

“Fell on the ice and landed wrong. I put my arm out to catch myself, like you aren’t supposed to, you know. It was stupid, I’ve been walking on icy sidewalks my whole life.” 

Dishes done, Mark slips his arms around Brent again, this time hugging him from the front and looking up at his face. “I’m sure you were rushing off to do something important.” 

“If it was, I don’t remember. And obviously I didn’t make it.” 

“Your arms are all good now, though.” Mark’s eyes brighten as he runs his hands over Brent’s exposed forearms. 

Something delicious licks through Brent’s stomach. “Oh?” he asks, very obviously fishing for compliments, but Mark’s eyes light up and he apparently decides to oblige him. 

“Mhmm. Very good.” His thumbs run over the delicate skin on the inside of Brent’s elbow, and he shivers. 

Everything Mark has helped him discover about his body has been a revelation, honestly. He can’t believe that being with another person can feel like this, that  _ sex _ can feel like this. The thought that he might be one of those labels that he hadn’t understood on some spectrum he hadn't even known existed until a few days ago crosses his mind again. 

“I don’t know how to describe it. Just that when I see your arms doing all this work, I just- it reminds me of all of the times you defended me from bullies, and protected me, and there’s something…” Mark blows out a breath, squeezing Brent’s arms. “Something very primal about it for me, I guess. Very cave-man. Here’s my provider.” He laughs at himself. “Which is ridiculous.” 

“Totally ridiculous,” Brent says with a smile. Boldly, he pulls Mark in so Mark can feel how his cock is straining against his fly. “I obviously think it’s super ridiculous.” 

Watching Mark’s cheeks redden is a delight, almost as much as feeling Mark’s own bulge brush against his. “We are both very. Ridiculous. People.” Mark punctuates each word by swiveling his hips to bring them into contact. 

In a flash, they’re all over each other. Brent’s hands cup Mark’s ass and pull him up more firmly against him. Mark circles his arms around Brent’s neck so he can get close and kiss him passionately. All of the fever from the weekend seems to burn through his low mood, or maybe his brain just leaps at the chance to ride the high of the endorphins again and pushes the rest away for now. Whatever the cause, Brent finds himself happily drowning in Mark. He doesn’t even realize he’s walked them back to the kitchen wall until Mark’s back thuds against it. 

With a low groan, Mark lifts his legs, and Brent helps him circle his waist. The move rubs their cocks together deliciously. “Brent-” he gasps, before taking his mouth again. 

It’s crazy; ten minutes ago Brent had been thinking fondly of bed and falling into an oblivion where he can ignore how depressing life is. Now, it’s like desire and lust are a fire moving through his system, lighting everything from the inside out. He’s fairly sure he’s making all kinds of noises that are getting swallowed by Mark, but the part of his brain that tells him he should be quiet because Nana is sleeping is apparently currently offline. 

He presses Mark more firmly into the wall and grips his back to hold them steady. Gasping, Mark’s hand skates down his chest and finds his cock immediately, rubbing him through his slacks. Brent’s thinking of nothing but pleasure as Mark unzips him to get better access. With one of Mark’s hands squeezing the back of his neck and the other shuttling around his cock, with Mark’s mouth on his and his own hands squeezing Mark’s round cheeks, all rational thought flies completely out the window. When Mark’s thumb sweeps over the head of his cock, swiping through the precum gathering there, it’s all he can do not to-

“No, no, no no nononono.” Everything changes, and Mark starts shoving at him instead, and he’s confused enough that he starts to drop Mark without ceremony. Mark keeps saying the word, and holding out his hand as if it’s got something infectious on it, and Brent feels like he’s been doused by a bucket of icy water. 

Without looking at him, Mark heads straight for the sink, squirting a large amount of dishwashing liquid on his hands and turning the hot water all the way on until it’s steaming. 

And Brent’s still freaking confused, his breath still coming short, the memory of Mark’s lips still on his. Mark looks like he’s shaking, and if- if Brent hurt him in some way, he’d- he has to know. He has to make this  _ right, _ whatever’s gone wrong. He shoves himself back in his pants and zips up, approaching Mark slowly. 

He watches as Mark repeats the process, scrubbing everything until his hands are red and raw.

“Mark?” he asks tentatively, feeling very much out of his depth. “I- I’m sorry for-”  _ whatever I did wrong. _

Mark starts, apparently having forgotten his presence, which is not a great feeling at all, either. He looks down at his hands and blinks, then looks back up at Brent. 

“Are you okay?” They seem like stupid words, considering how pale Mark looks right now. 

Mark takes a steadying breath and reaches out to turn off the taps. “Yeah, I, uh- oh, thanks,” he murmurs, when Brent passes him a clean hand towel. “Yeah, it’s okay.” 

Mark won’t meet his eyes, though. “It...doesn’t seem okay right now.” 

“We have our ground rules,” Mark snaps, frowning. “We can go upstairs and do whatever, we just don’t have any condoms down here. We shouldn’t have gotten carried away.” 

“I- I’m sorry. I-” Brent trails off, not sure of what to say. “I’m sorry.” 

Mark’s knuckles go white gripping the towel, but he’s still avoiding Brent’s face. “It’s not- I mean. We just shouldn’t have gotten carried away. It’s fine. We’re good now. Right?” This time, Mark looks right at him. 

“Yeah. We’re good.” 

All of the endorphins he’d been feeling earlier have come crashing to a halt, and he can feel the low mood descending again as they walk up the stairs together. Wordlessly, they walk to separate bedrooms. Brent feels as if a part of him goes with Mark to his room, because he’s certainly not feeling whole when he closes the door to his own room and starts pulling off his clothes. His hands are a little shaky, but he manages to get into pajama pants after a few minutes of staring at the wall and cycling through negative thoughts. 

His heart jumps at the knock on his bedroom door, and he turns, surprised to see Mark opening it and poking his head in, looking sad. “Can I come in?” 

“Um. Yeah, of course. Come on.” 

Mark, clad in his own pajamas, takes a tentative step into the room, and then another and another until he’s standing right before Brent, looking up at his face. “I’m sorry. That was... obviously not fine, and I shouldn’t have freaked out on you without saying anything.” 

He looks down, crossing his arms over his chest as if he’s protecting himself. “And if...if you’re not mad at me, I’d like to tell you why I did that.” 

Brent’s arms come up to hug Mark involuntarily, but he pulls them back at the last moment, aware Mark hasn't given him consent since he started repeating “no” earlier. Mark sees the motion, and the last of his stiffness seems to melt as he pulls Brent into his own arms. “You’re so good to me, Brent. God, I’m sorry I fucked everything up.”

Brent finally finds his voice as his chin rests in Mark’s hair. “You want to come lie down and tell me?” 

Mark looks over to the bed, then back up to Brent. “I’d like that a lot, yeah.” 

When Mark’s settled against his chest, Brent finally lets himself relax, brushing a kiss over Mark’s forehead. “I’m glad you came here,” he murmurs, because he can’t not. 

“You don’t deserve how I treated you.  _ I  _ don’t deserve how you’re treating me now.” 

Brent shushes Mark and squeezes him tightly. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s okay that you’re fixing it now.” 

Mark nods against his chest, then lapses into silence. Brent’s just starting to wonder if Mark has lost the courage to say whatever he was going to say when he finally starts talking. “I’ve spent a lot of money and time on therapy to stop doing things like what happened in the kitchen just now.” 

“We all have lapses,” Brent murmurs, because it’s true and not just because he’s trying to offer comfort. He thinks about how poorly he handled Reenie earlier and vows to remember to apologize tomorrow. 

“Six years ago, I basically  _ was _ the graphics design department for this firm downtown. It was pretty much my dream job, and happening so soon, nearly just out of college? I was so excited.” 

It’s not hard to picture; he remembers Mark’s excitement back in middle school when he was in the middle of some type of art project. 

Mark traces over his chest, bringing him back to the present. When he speaks, though, it’s obvious he’s still stuck in the past. “I hadn’t been feeling well. Kind of fluey. When it didn’t go away, I went in to see my doctor, he had me tested automatically in that “well it definitely couldn’t be this” way but then...it came back positive.”

Mark stops, and Brent has no idea what to say, so he just squeezes Mark in comfort. “I was- I was so many things, but ultimately I was confused. I’d been with my boyfriend for four years. Recently we’d been discussing getting married. I hadn’t had sex with anyone but Ashton in so long. When I got past some of the shock, later that night, I told him. I had to tell him, of course. I still hadn’t figured out how I’d gotten infected but he needed to be tested too, obviously, and start treatment. Through it all, I was thinking about  _ his _ health and safety. And so I told him, and I could see it on his face.”

“He knew.” Brent’s voice is flat and cold as he says it, holding Mark more tightly. A fierce sense of protectiveness rises in him.

Mark shakes his head. “No, he didn’t, but- he looked guilty, and informing him of our diagnosis was enough to get him to admit that he’d been sleeping around on me. For  _ years.  _ Only without condoms sometimes, but it only takes once.” 

“Mark, I…”  _ I’m sorry? I’m so proud of you for making it this far? I want to find this Ashton and pound his face into the ground? _ Not knowing what to say, he doesn’t finish the sentence. 

“So, uh, sometimes I get hypersensitive about...stuff like tonight. Sorry.”

“Please don't apologize,” Brent says, temper flaring. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- Ashton, you said? Is he still in San Diego?”

It is, apparently, what Mark needed to hear, because he smiles against Brent’s chest. “I have no fucking clue. I cut him out of my life.”

“Good.”

Brent’s not sure he’s ever heard his own voice be so final and unforgiving. But Mark’s always been a trigger for him, for his sense of loyalty and protectiveness, and this is no different, so maybe it all makes sense. 

“We put the rules on that list because they’re important to us. I won’t break them,” Brent promises, because that’s what he  _ can _ do. 

Mark leans back, finding Brent’s lips with his and lingering in the soft kiss. It’s amazing how quickly the gesture has become familiar and comforting. “And I won’t- I won’t try to shut you out like that. I didn’t react how I should have, and I’m sorry I made you feel bad.” 

It’s on the tip of Brent’s tongue to tell him again that he doesn’t need to apologize, but he realizes that Mark’s right, that the apology has acted like a balm over the hurt he’d been feeling. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

It’s the last thing he remembers saying before they both slip into sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Married life seems to suit them...until it doesn't. 
> 
> Added tag: rimming

It takes Mark a few days to get over the weird, raw, vulnerable feeling that had cracked him open that night with Brent. They’re awkward around each other for the better part of a week before Mark feels like he can trust his brain to keep his heart tamed once again. 

It all breaks open Saturday afternoon when Brent shyly asks him if he wants to go for a walk. Spring is ever so slightly in the air, or at least, the ground isn’t currently icy, so Mark bundles up and agrees. 

He’s not surprised when Brent steers him towards their old hangout, but he is surprised to see the hammock set up, mounds of blankets already laid out. 

“I thought we could, uh, maybe hang out for a bit? Like old times?” 

Mark finds himself beaming up at his husband, and the last vestiges of the lingering awkwardness fly away. “I’d love to.” 

They settle in, though it’s a harder process than when they were younger and smaller. Luckily Brent upgraded to an adult-sized hammock at some point. Still, they’re pressed right up against each other, Mark’s head on Brent’s chest as they watch the canopy of tree branches and gray-white sky above them. In the summer, they’ll be shaded by leaves, but for now, the black and brown lines breaking up the winter sky blankness makes fun patterns for Mark’s artist brain to follow. 

They’re buried in Brent’s blankets, and even though Mark can feel the cold coming in from underneath the hammock, he’s toasty-warm for now. “This was a good idea,” he murmurs as they slowly rock. 

It’s a pleasure to watch the smile slowly take over Brent’s face. And it's easy to lean over and capture Brent's lips with his.  


It’s the first time Mark’s kissed Brent like this, with intent, since he told Brent about Ashton, but nothing feels awkward between them now. Their mouths slide together like they were made to do so, the hammock rocking with their movement. Mark loses track of how long they stay like that, making out, looking into each other’s eyes, enjoying the silence of the forest. 

When Mark’s hand goes to cup Brent’s hardening cock in his pants, Brent groans into his mouth. Mark breaks away enough to ask, “You don’t happen to have any condoms on you, do you?” 

Brent looks pained. “I didn’t think to bring any, no.” They make out for a few more minutes before Brent breaks it off, his cheeks bright red. “We’re, uh, either going to have to go back to find some, or stop right now.” 

Mark runs a gloved thumb over Brent’s kiss-swollen lips, and Brent opens his mouth automatically, letting Mark’s thumb slip inside. Mark groans, leaning in to take his lips once again. “So sweet for me. Let’s go back, honey, so I can make you come so hard you see stars.” 

They scramble out as quickly as they can, gathering up the blankets to haul back. Mark takes one last look at the hammock, though. “Sometime in the summer, we’re coming back here and you’re fucking me in this thing, okay?”

Brent chokes on a laugh. “We’ll probably both fall on our asses.” 

“I trust you,” Mark replies with a wink, leading the way back to the house. 

They tumble into the bedroom together, half-clothed and hungry for more. Mark’s cold, and has certain plans, so he steers them for the en suite’s shower. “Strip,” he orders, turning on the shower to get the hot water going before starting to shed his own clothes. 

Brent climbs in first, getting that glorious body wet and warm. Mark hums in appreciation and joins him, sliding his arms around Brent’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

When he has Brent leaning over, he moves to his ear, whispering, “Has anyone ever rimmed you? I mean I’m guessing not, but maybe you got adventurous.”

Brent’s eyes are wide, and he shakes his head. “And you...want to?” 

“Oh I very much want to, but only if you’re comfortable.” 

Brent manages a shaky nod. “In here?” 

Mark smiles. “No, but I’m going to get you ready in here.” 

Brent almost chokes on the streaming water when Mark’s hand snakes around his body and presses against his hole. 

Mark straddles Brent to the bed, getting him in his favorite position. He’s fairly sure, from the way Brent lets these little noises of pleasure loose, that he likes being pinned under Mark just as much. They’re fresh from the shower, barely dry, and Mark wants to lick off every bead of moisture clinging to Brent’s skin. They’re both achingly hard, condoms on, and Mark doesn’t see any reason why he should slow down now. 

He slides down between Brent’s legs, pressing them apart and kissing the inside of Brent’s thigh. Brent shudders sweetly, the most responsive lover Mark’s ever had. Sometimes it feels like a privilege to touch Brent this way, to bring him to this moment. 

Brent tenses as Mark works his way up Brent’s thigh, tickling his nose in Brent’s leg hair, licking at the drops of water here and there. “Hand me a pillow,” he directs, his voice already rough. 

It hits him in the head unexpectedly, and Brent freezes. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry-” 

After a second of shock, Mark snickers, then lets it turn into a full laugh. “No apology necessary, honey.” He blows a raspberry against Brent’s thigh even as he moves the pillow under Brent’s hips, getting him to laugh, too. 

Mark can’t believe this moment is his. 

Brent’s still laughing, relaxed now, and Mark takes advantage. He leans in, licking directly over Brent’s hole before Brent can tense up about what’s coming. “Oh- Mark-” 

Mark loses himself, tracing his tongue around Brent’s rim. He’d worked Brent open just a little in the shower while they’d been cleaning themselves, and now Brent’s rim unfurls for his tongue slowly but surely. 

And there’s no doubt Brent’s enjoying himself. He can’t seem to stop making these little noises that go straight to Mark’s dick, making him leak precum into the condom. Brent’s so sweet and pliant like this, his legs askew, his hands clenching into the bed sheets. If Mark had a choice, he’d stay like this forever. 

It’s when he works one of his fingers in beside his tongue that Brent’s abs contract, his hole clenching down. Mark reaches up to stroke Brent firmly as he rolls through his orgasm, Mark’s name on his lips. 

Growling a little, Mark pulls back and works himself up Brent’s body until he’s kneeling, his cock by Brent’s mouth. Brent opens those sweet, pliant lips and takes Mark inside, gripping at his thighs as Mark gently thrusts in. Mark groans, grabbing the headboard and using it as leverage to fuck Brent’s mouth, trying to stay shallow enough to not overwhelm Brent. Brent’s tongue feels like heaven as he glides over it again and again. Mark looks down, and it’s the image of Brent’s lips stretched around his cock that sends Mark over the edge. 

“Shit, honey-” Mark gasps, reaching down to hold Brent’s head still as he shoots his load into the condom. “Fuck. Your mouth is so fucking good.” 

Brent’s eyes are droopy, satisfied as Mark takes care of clean up quickly. He wraps Brent in his arms and pulls the blankets up around them, settling in for a mid-winter nap. Shuffling in the bed, Brent manages to slide up against Mark, making himself the little spoon. Mark’s only too happy to oblige, letting his eyes slip closed as he leans his head against Brent’s back. 

It’s a moment Mark’s going to try to capture every piece of, to hold onto for the future. And it takes Mark’s everything not to wrap his arms around Brent’s body and whisper:  _ I love you. _

Mark is surprised that he’s come to enjoy the town advisory meetings. There’s something fun about the small-town politicking and the way everyone gets so passionate. He likes watching Brent in his element, too, among his people, working out deals and compromises and always making sure the best interests of Havenwood are met. 

He doesn’t even mind Brent’s obvious flaunting of their relationship in front of Steve and John. Making homophobes uncomfortable has always been one of Mark’s favorite pastimes. 

Really, sitting in the ‘spouses’ section and befriending Katrina O’Connor, a lovely woman who just happens to have made the mistake of marrying Steve, is just icing on the cake.

“Oh, that’s nice, Elisa came.” 

Mark looks up from his phone to follow Katrina’s eyeline to a beautiful young woman who’s currently talking to...his husband. “Elisa?” 

“Elisa Hernandez, she works at the bank with me. I’m glad she came, she’s been talking about wanting to get involved now that she’s a homeowner.” 

Mark hums. That makes sense, then, Brent probably knows her through realty stuff. There’s no reason to be jealous of the way Brent bends his body towards her; Brent’s a friendly guy, one of the many reasons Mark loves him. Besides, he’s tall, he has to bend his body to nearly everyone. At least Mark is right at the perfect height to kiss him, even if he’s shorter.

And besides, Brent’s free to pursue whomever he wants, although Mark definitely wouldn’t pick someone here in Havenwood, not when they’re trying to be convincing. But as long as Brent can keep it quiet, it should be fine. 

Mark ignores the intense churning in his gut at the way Brent smiles down at Elisa. 

_ He’s not yours. The ring on your finger means nothing. Don’t forget that. _

It’s lucky Mark has years of experience dealing with unrequited love for Brent Henner. 

A few days later, Mark’s in the middle of a no-tech break from his design work when his cell phone rings and Brent’s picture pops up. Glad for a distraction, he picks up cheerfully. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Hey, I just wanted to tell you and Nana not to hold dinner for me. My cleaning crew just told me one of the rental cabins got  _ trashed _ this weekend, like broken windows and the whole nine yards, so I’m going to have to go up to the mountain and check it out, assess the damage. It’s an hour out and back, so yeah. I’ll grab something before I head out.” 

Mark looks out at the darkening afternoon sky and frowns. “Be careful, okay? Call me when you head back down so I know if I have to call out the state troopers to find you?” 

“Yeah, of course. Love you.” 

Mark blinks, and in the second it takes him to react, Brent’s already hung up on the other side. 

There are several explanations, of course; the first being that Brent had simply been standing next to someone who doesn’t know about the “of convenience” part of their marriage so he’d said it as cover up. 

But the whole thing - the excuse about missing dinner, the brief conversation leaving no time for questions, the ‘love you’ tossed out at the end - it all reminds him, sickeningly, of Ashton.

It’s not fair to Brent to jump to that conclusion; Brent’s never been anything but a loyal friend. But all of a sudden, Mark gets the feeling that he’s ventured too far into the deep end for his own safety. At some point, his heart overrode his brain, and now he’s here, vulnerable.

He’d felt the same way six years ago, raw and used, and he hates it. Making a fist, he forces the feelings down. There’s no reason for this, no reason for jealousy, no reason for the doubt, not when this is a  _ fake marriage. _ They literally designed it this way, and it’s  _ still _ tearing Mark up. 

He thinks back to when he’d made the decision, trying to figure out how he’d justified doing this for Brent’s benefit. God, he’d been so selfish. He’d never wanted to look out for Brent, he’d just wanted to...to play make believe to fulfill some childhood fantasy. 

The best thing for both of them would be for Mark's heart to get some distance. 

Determined, he pushes away from his work desk to head downstairs and start dinner.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three words complicate things.

Making a list of every single broken or missing item in the cabin is incredibly distracting work for which Brett’s thankful. Anger and annoyance at the renters - a group of rowdy college kids that he’s having a hard time empathizing with - fuels his work and keeps the fog of depression at bay. He finishes up the visit by contacting Reenie and his lawyer to make sure his butt is covered when he sends the kids - or more likely their parents - the bill. 

Unfortunately, that still leaves the two hours of driving there and back, all alone in his car with the memory of ‘Love you’ slipping out earlier. 

What the fu- heck had he been thinking? Where had it come from? What had he meant by it? What had Mark thought? 

After hanging up, he’d immediately wanted to call Mark back and ask him what he thought, or explain the phrase away, but he’d been too much of a coward. Besides, what would he ask?  _ “Hey, I love you, but uh, do you know what that means for us? Because I have no clue.”  _

Why, why had the words even left his mouth? He hadn’t even been thinking about them! He’d never intended to say them in a romantic relationship, ever! To anyone, and certainly not to Mark, who’d agreed to this marriage as a business arrangement.

Then, of course, he thinks of  _ why _ he’s never wanted to say them, and he’s reminded of his father, and how so, so quickly “I love you” turned to “I hate you” between Brent Sr. and his many wives. The words had seemed so meaningless to Brent, even then, so why would he want to say such a meaningless phrase to Mark? 

And if it’s meaningless, why is he still freaking out? 

He’s fairly sure he white-knuckles the steering wheel the entire trip, and not because the roads are icy on his way back. 

When he gets home, he sits in the car, staring up at the stupidly large house his father had built. It’s dark inside, which makes sense; Nana’s been going to bed early and he’d told Mark not to wait up when he’d texted him that he was headed back. Mark had replied with an unfathomable “drive safe.” There are times when Brent  _ hates _ the ambiguity of modern technology. 

He’s not sure how long he sits, staring up at the house that has only felt like a home whenever Mark is inside. He kind of hates it, the mansion, the impersonal interior decorating, the fact that it will be empty except for him soon. 

He rests his forehead on the steering wheel, his depression weighing him down like an anchor. 

Eventually he manages to gather enough of himself to walk inside, dropping his keys in the bowl by the back door. Like he thought, Nana’s room is dark, so he makes sure to quietly climb the stairs. Mark’s bedroom door is closed and dark, too, and when he gets to his own, he sees that Mark’s not sleeping in his bed. 

And that, Brent supposes, is a good answer for what Mark thought of his ‘love you.’ 

He falls into bed, exhausted, and as is typical of his episodes, wide awake at the same time. And because he has nothing better to do, he lays awake thinking about Mark. 

How had it been only weeks ago that he’d thought this was such a brilliant plan? 

_ So stupid. _

He’d always been against marriage because they always fall apart. Every one of his father’s had, and the national divorce rate backs him up. He’s fooled himself into thinking that just because this marriage is fake that it could somehow end any other way. 

Does he love Mark?

Yeah, of course. He’s loved Mark since Mark sat down next to him at his lonely lunch table on the first day of kindergarten. Mark’s the best friend a guy could have; snarky and smart enough to keep Brent on his toes, willing to go along with Brent’s stupid ideas, never making fun of Brent’s naivete. 

There’s so much about Mark to love, of course there is. 

But does he  _ love _ Mark?

Images flash through his mind. Mark’s cheeks rosy from cold as he says yes to Brent’s proposal and something inside Brent relaxes. Mark’s smile as he laughs at Brent attempting to make pizza dough. Mark’s hand in his on one of their many afternoon walks. Mark’s lips as they tell him exactly how to get him off. 

And the feeling of Mark’s body curled against his as they sleep, that feeling he’s missing so terribly right now as half of his bed remains cold. 

A million other little things. 

Of course he loves Mark Peterson. 

_ God, _ how could he be so stupid?

Love is pain. Love brought his father nothing but an endless pursuit for his next love-fix. Love made his own life into a rollercoaster in which Mark was the only stable thing - until he’d moved away. Love is stupid and awful and it- it  _ fucking _ sucks. 

It’s like a cavern opens up in his chest, leaving him feeling raw and exposed and aching. He flops over onto his stomach, shutting his eyes against it and trying to will himself to sleep. 

He loves Mark, this is true. Okay, so accept that. That doesn’t mean Mark loves him. In fact, Mark surely  _ doesn’t _ love him. Mark would be an  _ idiot _ to love someone so obviously unsuited to love anyone ever. And he’d shown that tonight, hadn’t he, rejecting Brent’s declaration quite clearly.

So yeah, he just needs to...do what, exactly? 

Well, certainly not say the L word ever again, that would be a good start.

And maybe backing off a little. Let Mark live his life without complicating it. And when Brent’s sure Mark doesn’t need his help or this marriage of convenience anymore, he’ll let Mark go. Because Mark deserves a marriage where he  _ does _ love his husband, after everything he’s been through. 

When he checks the clock, it’s already three in the morning, and he groans internally. There’s no point trying to get to sleep now. Rolling himself out of bed, he drags himself into his winter running clothes, laces up his shoes, and heads out to run himself brainless.

  


Running becomes his getaway the next day, too, when Mark doesn’t want to accompany him on their afternoon walk, and again after they eat dinner separately. It’s been awhile since Brent has had to resort to more than one run a day to keep his depression at bay, but right now he can’t stand being in the quiet of his own bedroom. Much better to run until his lungs burn, music blasting in his ears.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meddling elders to the rescue once again...?
> 
> Tags added: Anal sex, miscommunication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lateness of the chapter today. I definitely opened it to post it at some point today but apparently never actually executed it. *facepalm* I wish ao3 would let you schedule posts like patreon or tumblr.

Nana doesn’t ask him about the sudden freeze between he and Brent until nearly a week later and honestly, Mark’s surprised she waited that long. He’s helping through her bedtime physical therapy when she grabs his arm and tugs until he meets her eyes. “What’s going on with your boy?” 

“He’s hardly ‘my boy,’ Nana.” Mark blows out a breath as he holds Nana steady for her stretches. 

Nana hums. “The question still stands.” 

“Well. I’m not sure. Lots of things, probably.” 

The fact is, Mark and Brent have barely spoken to each other this week. Brent’s been making excuses about being busy at work, but when he comes home, he’s obviously sweaty and in need of a shower. It’s not hard to connect the dots. 

Which means Mark’s going to have to talk to him about that soon. His heart refuses to believe that Brent’s seeing someone, but the evidence lines up. What makes it awful is that Mark doesn’t even really have the right to be angry at him; sure, they have the agreement about telling each other, but he could see Brent brushing that part aside so as not to upset or embarrass Mark. It’s not like Mark has any other claim to Brent.

They haven’t slept together this week - in both senses of the phrase - either, and Mark’s surprised at how lonely he feels as he tries to fall asleep. He hasn’t really been getting much rest at all, now that he thinks about it. No wonder the shadows under his eyes seem to have invited some friends to join the party. 

Nana’s looking at him as if she could read his mind if she just stares at him hard enough. Who knows, maybe she can. “Markie-” 

“Nana, I really don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine, he’s fine, we’re all fine. We just have to keep, you know, keep going on like we have been.” 

“That’s stupid and you know it.” 

“Nana!” 

“Don’t ‘Nana’ me.” 

Mark frowns, helping her up from the yoga mat. “I’m not sassing you. In fact, I think you’re sassing me, to be perfectly honest.” 

“It’s been awhile since you two were alone together. Why don’t I invite Reenie over for dinner and you go on a nice date together?” 

“There’s no reason to go on a date.” 

Nana shrugs nonchalantly. “Seems to me that any chance to be lovebirds out in public is just another point in your ‘I’m definitely not committing insurance fraud’ defense. Never know when that might come in handy.” 

Mark chews on his lip, because Nana’s not wrong. He thinks of the tiny copay he’d had to dole out this morning for his prescription, and the risk Brent’s taking to help him out. 

_ You’re so fucking selfish. _

He’s not wrong, either, in his assessment, but there’s also nothing to be done about it right now. 

“Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll ask him and let you know to ask Reenie.” 

Nana looks up at him expectantly.

“You want me to go ask right now?” 

She grins. “No time like the present, dear.” 

He holds back a beleaguered sigh, and heads off. It’s not hard to find Brent; he’s just a room over and staring off into space. Brent doesn’t even seem to notice him until the couch depresses under Mark’s weight and he blinks. “Oh- hey.” 

“Hey, you okay?” 

He’s obviously not, but Mark’s mostly wondering if Brent will tell him. 

“Yeah, fine. All good. What’s up?” 

So that answers that, then. Mark tries not to frown, and hopes he’s pulling it off. “So, I was thinking that we haven’t been seen out together as a couple for a little bit. Would you, uh, want to go on a date with your husband?” Now he goes for a cheesy grin. 

It’s not hard to see Brent’s face light up. He doesn’t quite smile, but his shoulders straighten. “I’d- I’d really love to, actually. That would be nice. Tomorrow?” 

“Let me check my social calendar,” Mark jokes. He nudges Brent with his shoulder. “You know the good places around here, so you get to pick. I’m easy.” 

Brent looks speculative. “I think I know where we should go.” 

“Coolio,” Mark replies, because he has no sense of self-preservation. “It’s a date, then.” 

_ Oh, I’m so fucked. _ Mark gives the thought about thirty seconds before he shoves it away and pastes a smile on his face for Brent. “You look great,” he murmurs, brushing some imaginary dust off of the shoulder of Brent’s blazer just to feel his body beneath. 

“So do you.” 

Funny, the appreciative look Brent’s giving him almost seems genuine. Mark slides his hand down Brent’s arm and links their fingers together. “Ready?”

Mark’s eyebrows raise toward his hairline when Brent pulls his hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it. “Ready.” 

“Hey,” Mark says softly, his cheeks going hot. “Save it for the restaurant.” 

Brent just smiles, making no move to drop his hand as they make their way to his car. 

It’s so damned easy to fall into Brent’s orbit, especially when he can tell he’s got Brent’s full attention. Brent Henner’s full attention is a dangerous weapon, Mark decides. 

He brings Mark to a nice little steakhouse one town over, and the minute they walk in the front door, it’s Mission Accomplished as far as establishing their relationship goes. There’s at least three tables with Havenwood residents that recognize Brent. Mark can’t help the little thrill that goes through him each time Brent introduces him as his husband. 

As he watches Brent scan the menu, his face lit by flickering candlelight, Mark remembers exactly why he’s been trying to avoid Brent in the first place. It’s entirely too easy to pretend that Brent actually loves him, that he’s not seeing someone else. Sitting across from Brent like this makes it feel like Brent actually wants to be here, instead of off with whomever his lover is.

Brent leans forward, closing his menu. “Hey, you remember Mrs. Peck? Seventh grade biology? The one who we all thought they based Mrs. Frizzle on?” 

The memory startles a laugh out of Mark. “I do, actually. I remember thinking she was way too stylish to be stuck in Havenwood.” 

Brent smiles at him, and unlike most of the other times in the last two weeks, the smile actually reaches his eyes and makes Mark’s heart flutter. Brent himself seems lighter, happier.

So that’s Mission Accomplished, too.

He can’t help himself, reaching out for Brent’s hand, and they barely break contact for the rest of the meal. They’re still entwined together as they walk back to Brent’s car. Mark had a glass of wine with dinner, so he’s feeling pleasantly warm and loose, tucked up against Brent’s side. They don’t break apart even for the car, Brent’s hand linked in his over the center console. Their talking is quiet now, like they both know exactly what’s going to happen once they get home. 

By unspoken agreement, they head upstairs for bed, but Brennt stops them next to Mark’s room. He releases Mark’s hand, looking nervous now, leaning in closer. “I want to-” His lips hover inches away from Mark’s. “Can I…?”

And it goes against everything Mark has been telling himself lately, but he can’t help it, because his heart is so full right now. “Yeah, honey.” 

The kiss is everything he remembers it being, maybe more because he’s been denying himself for so many days. He loves the feeling of Brent’s soft lips on his, the way Brent’s tall form makes him feel small and cherished. Brent keeps him there, pinned against Mark’s own bedroom door, for a few long, happy minutes, only breaking it off to lean his forehead on Mark’s and get his breath back. 

“Will you come to bed with me?” Brent whispers against his lips. 

And heart, well, heart is winning over brain at the moment. “Yeah.” 

They fall into silence as Brent leads him by the hand to his bedroom, as they take their clothes off, watching each other, as Brent grabs the condoms and lube from the side table. He sits on the bed, naked, beautiful, and Mark can’t help but drop into his lap, straddle him, their cocks brushing together. He circles his arms around Brent’s neck and leans in to kiss him again. 

He shivers at Brent’s large hands running over his back, furnace-warm against his chilled skin. They tease over his ass cheeks, then slip in between to drive him crazy there, too. 

He pulls back, his hand gripping Brent’s hair. “I want you to fuck me, just like this.” 

Brent’s hands squeeze his thighs, and he nods eagerly, looking like Mark’s just granted him the world’s greatest gift. It does heady things to Mark’s ego, but he won’t take the time now to analyze that. They move so that Brent can be comfortable, sitting against the headboard, Mark still straddling his lap. 

This time, Brent just looks at him expectantly, and Mark doesn’t need the words to understand exactly what Brent wants. “You have to open me up first. Nice and slow, one finger.” 

Should he find it so hot that Brent wants instructions? 

He’s distracted by that thought from the first probing of Brent’s blunt finger against his hole. Mark relaxes, or at least tries to relax even when his heart is jackrabbiting in his chest. Distracting Mark as he slowly opens him up, Brent kisses him again. Mark breaks up the kisses with whispered instructions that have Brent’s cock twitching in between them. 

“More now,” Mark moans. “I can take more.” 

Brent’s fingers start to swipe over his prostate, making his own cock jump and twitch, making his body stiffen, bringing him precipitously close to the edge. He holds himself back, distracts himself by adjusting the condom situation for the both of them, even as Brent’s fingers start scissoring inside. 

“Fuck, I need you, Brent, I need-” Mark sighs as three fingers start to stretch him. “Fuck, yeah, just like that, honey. So good.” He can’t help but pepper Brent’s face with kisses in between his praise. 

By the time he deems himself ready, Mark’s body feels as taut and strung-out as a bowstring, ready to send an arrow with deadly accuracy. He kneels, straddling Brent’s lap, and maneuvers Brent’s cock to the right position for him to just sink down onto him. 

“Oh- oh my god-” Brent gasps as Mark slides down slowly. “Oh-”

“Yeah. Fuck, you feel good. Filling me up.” Mark buries his face in Brent’s neck as he bottoms out, feeling every inch of Brent’s cock inside him. Brent’s practically burning hot, and holding his breath, tense. When Mark lifts himself though, just to sit down on him again, Brent’s breath whooshes out in a groan, and he wraps his arms around Mark’s body. 

Mark sets the rhythm, taking Brent along for the ride. He steadies his hands on Brent's shoulders, rolls his hips just right, and rubs Brent's cock over his prostate. 

He can feel it building in his stomach, licking through his body like flames. It's never been like this, never with anyone. Mark turns his face to Brent's shoulder, trying to hold back the words he wants to say, trying to hold back from spilling out his emotions. He feels like he’s going to cry. 

“Brent,” he says instead, and he barely recognizes his voice, broken with want. 

“I've got you,” Brent promises, holding Mark's hips and keeping the rhythm going. Mark cries out when Brent fucks up into him. It's dirty and perfect. 

With a groan, he fists his own cock and starts stroking himself steadily. The feeling of his fingers on himself makes his eyes roll back in his head, and it barely takes anything before he's coming, squeezing around Brent to make him muffle a shout with a kiss. 

They stay like that for long, syrupy minutes, their chests heaving, faces sweaty. There's a bone-deep contentedness that washes through Mark, and he’s fairly sure he could fall asleep just like this. Keeping Brent inside him, his head laying on Brent's shoulder, without a care for the weight his body is putting on Brent's.

That’s the thought that gets him moving, though, pressing a line of kisses up Brent’s shoulder to his jaw, then meeting his mouth as he slowly eases himself off of Brent’s spent cock. Brent’s nuzzling against him, cuddling before they take care of cleanup, when Brent's phone buzzes on the nightstand. They both turn to frown at it, and Mark climbs off, feeling pleasantly sore. He trashes his condom as he watches Brent take the call, wondering who could be calling right now. It’s never great news when the call is this late. 

Brent's eyebrows furrow. “No, I can be over right away, I think I know what you need.”

Mark frowns as Brent hangs up on the call and turns to him. “Uh. One of my former clients is having an issue.” He looks down at the rumpled bed like he’s regretting what just happened there. “I wouldn't normally, but it's a heating emergency I guess? I don't want her to freeze tonight.” 

An icy chill overtakes Mark’s happy post-coital warmth. He freezes completely, watching Brent watch him. For a reaction? To see if Mark’s buying it? Mark can’t be sure.

It’s possible Brent can tell Mark’s upset, because he looks sincerely apologetic. “I'm sorry. I'll be back as soon as I can.” He brushes a kiss over Mark's cheek and then jumps out of bed to start getting dressed again.

It's all Mark can do just to watch and not fall apart. He can still feel the shape of Brent's cock inside him, and here he is, headed off to  _ her  _ place. Whoever  _ she _ is.

He manages a weak “Goodbye” a minute later, and then he's left in the cold bedroom all alone, wondering what it is that makes him so easy to cheat on. 

Legs shaky, cursing his own stupidity, he gathers his stuff for the short walk of shame back to his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news we're finishing up the second week of school and I've (already? Only? You can choose the right word) cried three times so that's a thing.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is healthy; these boys are not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rough emotional chapters are coming to an end soon, I promise. But not quite there yet.

Going from holding Mark in his arms to being called to help Judy, an ex-wife of his father's, is quite possibly the worst transition in the world. By the time he has her heater working again, he’s freezing from working in the chilly basement, it’s late, and he just wants to get home to Mark’s arms. The date tonight, and after...had been one of the best nights of Brent’s life. Between this evening and the conversation he’d had with his doctor about upping his antidepressant dosage, he’s feeling like he might see the light at the end of this depressive tunnel. 

Which is why he's so confused when he climbs the stairs and immediately can see that both his and Mark's room are dark, but there’s a light emanating from the upstairs parlor. He turns that direction, and frowns when he finds Mark curled up on the loveseat, a blanket wrapped around him, staring into space. 

“Mark?” he asks softly, weirded out by the way Mark starts as if he didn't hear him. He briefly wonders if that’s what it’s like when he’s spaced out from a depression spiral. “Is everything okay?”

Mark looks up at him finally, and he seems miserable. He's definitely been crying, his eyes still moist and ringed in red. Brent's first thought is that something horrible has happened to someone in Mark's family, and he's going to need to go back to San Diego, at least for a visit, which means he’s leaving Brent, so would it be weird for Brent to ask if he wants a travel companion? 

Mark opens his mouth and then closes it again several times. Finally, he manages, “I'm going to start moving Nana and I out tomorrow. She's been well enough to handle her own house for a few days now.”

Brent sinks into the armchair across from Mark, feeling like Mark’s stolen the breath from his lungs. “Oh.”

It's a stupid response, but he can't think of anything else he has the right to say. 

“I think it would be best for us to spend some time apart.”

_ No! _ But that’s what they’d said in the ground rules, wasn’t it? They’re both free to leave if they want to. “Is- is this not working for you?”

Mark can't meet his eyes. “It's really not. Which is my fault. I should've known-” He cuts himself off, looking angry. “Some things don't change.”

_ Like their friendship shouldn't have changed, _ Brent surmises. Even  _ thinking _ it makes Brent slightly nauseated. Hasn't it been okay? Yeah, maybe a little rough the last couple of weeks, but there'd been that time in 6th grade when he and Mark hadn't talked to each other for a week because of something so silly he can't even remember why. He just remembers it being one of the worst times of his childhood, and he can’t imagine this going any differently. 

“I- um. Yeah, okay,” he manages. Maybe space is what they need. Maybe space will lead them back to being friends. 

The rest of his brain wants to scream at that logic, but he won't. Instead, he raises his hands placatingly. “You should stay here, though. I know Nana would still like being on a single level, and there's the insurance to think about. I'll- I'll stay at the office.”

Silence descends in the room, and Mark wraps his blanket more tightly around himself. “That's it?” he whispers.

“What- what else would there be?”  _ What do you want me to say? I love you, and you don’t want me to. _

Mark looks at him, really looks at him, then shakes his head in disgust. “All right.”

He turns away, gathering his blanket around his shoulders and pushing past Brent. A moment later, Brent hears Mark’s bedroom door shut quietly. Numb, in shock, Brent wills his body to move away. He stumbles to the doorway, studying Mark’s closed door for a moment. Then he forces himself down the stairs, out the back door, and to his car. 

He finally lets himself think once he’s inside, his head leaning back against the headrest. It’s cold out here, too, at some horrendously early hour of the morning. 

So it's one of those, then. One of the marriages that ends with a whimper rather than a bang. He'd seen it plenty of times as a kid, and he'd always preferred it over the anger that sometimes heralded the end. There had been nothing worse than sitting up in his room, headphones on, trying to drown out the sound of his father and current stepmother yelling at each other. Much better when they’d just decided they were tired of each other. Now, though, he feels cracked open, broken, contents spilling out of him. Is this what they’d felt like, too? If so, how had his father ever managed to move onto anyone else and risk feeling this hurt again? Brent’s not sure he could stand it.

And then a bone-deep tiredness overtakes him, the fog of his depression settling in, and for once he revels in it and the numbness it brings. He wraps it around himself like a warm blanket and finds comfort in thinking about how nothing truly matters. 

He manages about an hour of sleep on the floor of his office before he stops trying to make himself rest. 

He pushes himself through a run because it's routine, but he still has all of his paperwork caught up by six. Somewhere out there, Mark’s med alarm is going off. A few weeks ago that would have meant that Brent would’ve gone to the en suite to get them a glass of water to share, then cajoled Mark into taking his pill before falling back asleep for a little bit. He can almost feel the warmth of Mark’s body cuddling against him as they try to catch another half hour before life demands they get up.

He pushes the thought from his brain, but he can feel moisture gathering in his eyes. He presses his fingers to them, not wanting Reenie to catch him like this. 

With nothing to do, though, all he can do is think, and  _ remember, _ which is beyond awful. One thought leads to another, a spiral of happy moments with Mark all turning sour. 

They didn't say a whole lot about the marriage last night. They didn't say a whole lot about  _ anything _ last night. Sometime, maybe, years from now then they're friends again, if that ever comes to be, and Mark’s happily married to someone he loves, maybe he'll ask Mark what the tipping point was. What had Mark found so objectionable about marrying Brent that he’d called it off. He’ll ask when the wound isn’t so fresh.

His brain gets stuck on that idea, though, the thought of Mark now being free to find someone he can love. He won't have a chance to do that if he's still married to Brent, obviously. The next step would be to fix that for him. And that is a thing Brent can do, an action he can take. Moving forward is the only way to break through to the other side of a depressive episode, so it feels familiar to Brent to be taking a step. 

With nothing else to do, he decides to drive over to his lawyer’s office and wait for them to open. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head.

Mark's not going to stay in the house, of course. He's not going to drive himself crazy living in a house that Brent has hated his entire life, yet clings to for whatever reason. Sometimes Mark isn't sure whether Brent needs a therapist or an exorcist, the way Brent Sr.’s spirit refuses to leave. He’s not going to stay here and exorcise it for him, though. He can at least leave Brent to his ghosts. 

He’s already packing the kitchen things up when Nana shuffles into the kitchen, relying mostly on a cane. She purses her lips as she watches him, but doesn’t say anything. 

“We’re headed back to your house,” Mark says in a sing-songy voice, pushing as much enthusiasm into the statement as he can muster. 

Nana pours herself a cup of coffee, doctoring it how she likes with just a little sugar. “I’m not sure I feel comfortable with those steps yet, Mark.” 

Mark’s hand falters and he accidentally drops the frying pan he’d borrowed from Nana’s kitchen for pancakes onto a wrapped coffee cup, breaking it to pieces. He curses under his breath, then gives himself a second. He hadn’t anticipated this reaction from Nana, but he’s not going to force her to return to a place she doesn't feel safe. Maybe they can get a hotel room. “Nana, I...I can’t explain, I just  _ need _ to not be here anymore.” 

She must see something in his face, because she softens, using the counter to come give him a half-hug. When she speaks, though, her voice is as stern as the time she caught him sneaking money out of her purse to go see a movie with Brent and his latest step mom. He’d been ten at the time, and the voice makes him feel exactly the same age now. “Your mother and I didn’t raise you to be a quitter, Mark Ethan Peterson.”

“You can’t quit something that wasn’t real in the first place,” Mark mutters defensively, cleaning up the shards of the coffee cup.

Nana snorts. “Have you been paying attention to the same marriage I have? You eat together, you live together, you laugh together, you, hmm,  _ enjoy _ each other’s company. You’re married, sweetheart. I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“That’s not what he wants- ow!” Mark pulls his hand back sharply and curses. Blood instantly starts welling over the tip of his thumb.

“Let me see, Markie,” Nana murmurs, working her way over. 

She cleans away the blood with a paper towel and examines the wound. “Doesn’t need stitches, but let's get it cleaned up. Come on.” 

In the bustle of bandaging his thumb - on his dominant hand, no less, so drawing is going to be a bitch for a few days - the conversation about the reality or fakeness of his marriage is forgotten for a few hours. It’s not until he’s rolling his clothes and packing them away that he remembers, and his chest pangs with hurt and confusion.

He can't- he still can't quite believe last night happened. They’d been having such a good time, and yet… He never would have pegged Brent as the one who would betray this marriage so easily, but then again, he's the one who made himself vulnerable to it, hadn't he? If he wasn't so damn in love with Brent, he wouldn't be so hurt by Brent not coming clean about seeing someone else. It's obvious Brent is just too kindhearted to want to bring it up. Mark supposes it's for the best that he made the decision last night. Who knows how long Brent would have let the affair go on, and how much more that would have twisted the knife in Mark’s heart when they’d finally ended it.

Of course the weather has decided to be cooperative. The sun is actually breaking through the clouds, and he notices a patch of green shoots poking out of the dirt in the side garden when he takes a box out to Nana’s car. Just when he'd relish wallowing in a rainy day, the weather is trying to make him feel hopeful and excited for spring. 

He's looking at the car, contemplating driving the current load over and starting the unpacking process at Nana’s house, when Brent's car pulls into the driveway beside his. In a handful of seconds, there Brent is, standing before him, looking handsome and...broken. His own heart thuds against his chest, and he wants to reach out and pull him in for a hug. 

He watches Brent look at the car full of stuff, and sees the hurt flicker across his face. “I said you could stay here.”

“I didn't think it would be appropriate. This is your house.” Every word makes Mark’s soul ache.  _ I don’t want to leave you. _

A look Mark can only describe as ‘blank’ shutters down on Brent's face, which only makes Mark want to hug him more. He’s surprised, though, when Brent pulls a large manila envelope from his passenger seat. “I got us these.”

Frowning, Mark accepts the envelope, opens it, and pulls out a pile of paper. It takes him a few moments to understand what he's reading. Divorce papers, with little tabs to show Mark where to sign and initial and date. Brent's signature and initials already grace the pages. Now it’s Mark’s stomach that aches, flopping over inside him and making him want to throw up.

“So that's it, then.”  _ Brent’s done with me.  _

Brent looks down, shuffling his feet. “It seemed like the best idea. I looked into it, and I can cover medication payments for a while, until you can get back on your feet again.”

Anger burns through Mark at the offer. “I don't need your fucking money.”

And Brent, predictably, looks like Mark kicked his puppy. Or maybe Brent's the puppy and Mark kicked him, he’s not sure. “Okay.”

There's a drawn out silence that drags between them, then Brent turns away. “If you leave the papers on the kitchen table, I'll take them by the lawyer’s office tomorrow.” 

Without looking back, he walks into the house, leaving Mark there, the papers shaking in his hand. 

He studies them for a moment, the anger growing inside him. A decade of friendship as kids, and Brent still doesn’t have the decency to tell him that he’s seeing someone else. And maybe everything has gone to hell, but Mark knows he deserves at least that much. He deserves a lover that doesn’t lie to him, dammit. The papers crumple as his fingers tighten, and the sound breaks him out of his reverie. Before he knows it, his feet are carrying him inside. 

He finally finds Brent sitting on his bed, tying on running shoes. Looking up in surprise, Brent opens his mouth to speak but Mark cuts him off, throwing the divorce papers down on the bed. “You are such a fucking  _ coward.” _

Brent's eyes widen, but then he goes back to being blank almost immediately. “I- I mean, I know.” 

Mark refuses to let his anger fade. “It's in the fucking rules! You want to fuck around on me, I don't care, you just have to  _ tell  _ me. You'd rather, what, do this than just  _ tell  _ me? Divorce me? Intentionally upset me? I thought you were better than this. You’ve always been better than this.”

“What?”

“You  _ know  _ my history. You know what Ashton did to me. I can't- I never thought you were like this. I can't believe-”

“Okay, stop for a second. What do you mean, I'm fuc- sleeping around on you? I'm- I haven't had sex with anyone that isn't you for, well, hell, Mark,  _ years.” _ Brent looks incredibly embarrassed. “No one’s been interesting enough. You know that.”

Mark opens his mouth, then abruptly closes it again.”But- Elisa…”

Brent's brow furrows. “... Is a very nice former client of mine?”

“You left our bed last night for  _ her.” _

“No, I left our bed last night for Judy and her broken heating. She's one of Dad's exes and I just- she needed help, so I went. That’s...what I do. I help everyone else.”

“But…” Mark sits down heavily on the bed, his anger turning inward as he realizes exactly where the miscommunications happened. All of which were entirely his fault. He looks over at Brent, who shrugs, and god, he believes him, he really does. “But then, why the divorce, if you aren't looking to be with someone else? Why are you just...letting me leave?”

Brent looks down at the divorce papers between them, then pulls out his wallet. He extracts a piece of paper that Mark recognizes: their ground rules list. “Because I broke one of the other rules.” He taps the paper so Mark can see:  _ Ends when someone falls in love… _ When Mark just stares blankly at him, he elaborates. “I fell in love. With you.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark's reaction to Brent's confession; the boys make a deal

If everything wasn't so awful right now, Brent might laugh at the look on Mark's face. Of course he's surprised at Brent’s confession; Mark has never wanted this to be serious.

“I don't understand, I don't- you  _ love _ me?”

Brent looks down at his hand, worrying the gold ring on his finger. “I think so. I don't really, I mean, I'm not really sure what it's supposed to feel like.”

It's the truth as Brent knows it. What he feels for Mark can no longer be contained in the seemingly infinite box labeled ‘friendship.’ 

When Brent chances a glance at Mark, he still looks confused. After a moment, Mark looks down at the divorce papers, tapping them with his fingers. “So why…?”

Brent snorts, the answer painfully obvious to him. “Because why would you want to stay with me? You deserve a husband you love, Mark. I believe it in my heart.”

He watches Mark’s face as he digests the news, and braces himself for Mark to nod, to agree, to sign the papers and leave. Braces himself to lose Mark forever, to lose this connection he’s forged. He’s not sure he’ll ever find someone like Mark again. Someone with whom he feels totally himself. 

The last thing he’s expecting is Mark turning to him on the bed, his hand cupping Brent’s cheek softly, slowly turning his face. “I do have a husband I love, Brent.”

Brent blinks and furrows his brows, sure he’s misunderstood. But the look on Mark’s face is just as soft as his hand feels on his cheek. He can’t find the lie.

“You are everything I’ve ever wanted, Brent Henner. Everything I was sure I’d never have. I’d understand if you didn’t want to try this because of what I just did, how I just freaked out about Elisa.” Mark leans in, brushes a sweet kiss over his cheek. “I just needed you to know that.”

“Try...this?” Mark's words don't add up. 

“Brent, honey, I've loved you since before I knew I loved boys. You are- you have always been the gold standard for men for me. You are... kind, and brave and loyal and unselfish.” Mark's hand is sliding over his shoulder, warming Brent. 

“I'm not. Not unselfish. I want you, just for me.”

“Oh?” Mark smiles. “Well, if that's true then I think we're both guilty. We can be selfish jerks together.”

_ Together? _

He moves so that he and Mark are facing each other on the bed. He has to know, he has to be sure. “You...love me, and you want to try this marriage for real.”

Mark's smile is the sun itself. “That about sums it up, yeah.” He leans in close, sweeping his hand through Brent's hair and capturing his mouth. When they part, panting, Mark rests his forehead against Brent's. “I know I fucked up the whole trust thing, and I'll try again, if you'll let me.”

Brent remembers the bone-deep hurt he's felt the last few weeks as Mark pulled away, even if it was because he thought he was protecting himself. He thinks of that pain and thinks of Mark and says, “I forgive you.” He feels Mark go lax against him. “But if you start feeling that way again, thinking I'm- we need to talk. Talk it out. Don’t just pull away from me, please.”

Mark nods eagerly, kissing him again. “I’m so sorry. And if your brain is telling you that you don't deserve me for some reason, you need to talk to me so I can kick it's ass. We deserve this, okay? You deserve every little bit of love I can give you, and then some.”

“I'm terrified we're going to fuck it up.” Brent buries his face in Mark's neck. “Just like my father.”

“I'm not going anywhere. I'm not-” Mark pauses, looking down at the divorce papers. When he picks them up, Brent's heart stops. But then Mark grins and rips the papers neatly in half. 

Brent looks at him, flabbergasted, and Mark’s grin grows wider. “I'd suggest we go out to the grill and burn it to ashes but that would mean delaying this.”

He pulls Brent toward him with his t-shirt and crushes their lips together. Brent's heart, already fast, goes into double time, and then it's like he can't get enough of whatever Mark wants to offer. His hand slides down to Mark's hip, moving him until Mark is half in his lap and he can wrap his arms around him fully. It's only a matter of seconds before Mark’s straddling him, digging his fingers into his hair as they kiss. 

When they break apart, Mark rests his forehead against Brent's. “I love you.”

Everything inside Brent lights up, seemingly against his will. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Mark kisses him again, lighter and sweeter this time. 

The fear is there, though, fueled by the memory of every time love had turned to hate throughout Brent's childhood. It makes him pull Mark closer to him, burying his face in Mark's shoulder. 

Mark pets through his hair, soothing. “We have to talk to each other, honey.”

When Brent speaks, he feels like it’s a vent, pouring straight from his deepest, darkest fears. “If this is real, I’m terrified of losing you.”

“I know.” Mark looks down at the torn papers. “I’d like to not even put divorce on the table as a possibility. Would you be okay with that?” 

Brent’s heart pounds in his chest. “What if- what if you change your mind a month from now? A year?”

Mark’s quiet for a long moment, looking into his eyes. “I can’t predict the future. Obviously, because little me would have been so excited to learn he’s going to grow up and marry Brent Henner.” Brent smiles, and Mark looks gratified. “What’s the longest relationship your dad had, as far as you remember?” 

“I think…” Brent purses his lips, thinking back. “Reenie lasted a little over a year.” 

Mark holds his pinky finger up with a smile. “I’m willing to give you a year if you are, too.” He leans in to kiss Brent, and Brent can’t help but sink into it. “A lot more, probably, but we can start there. We’ll give each other a year, and reassess, and then give ourselves another year, up until we’re old men rocking in the hammock together.” 

“A year.” Brent hesitates, then hooks Mark’s pinky in his. 

“You know, we already had, like, ten years of a relationship under our belt before we even got married, so we’ve already outlasted your dad by a long shot.”

Something clicks inside Brent at Mark’s words. It’s obvious, but- “Yeah, huh?” 

“Nothing to be nervous about at all. We can do this.” Mark’s arms circle around his neck as he presses his body against Brent’s. 

Brent’s just starting to get into it, sliding one hand down the back of Mark’s pants to cup his ass, when he remembers something and pulls back. Ignoring Mark’s inquiring noise for the moment, he digs his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out their boundaries list. “I think we need to renegotiate.” 

“We could, or…” Mark’s lips tip up as he looks down at the torn papers. “You want to do the honors? It feels really fucking good.” 

Brent’s breath catches, and he hesitates for just a second, but then it’s easy to tear the paper directly in half. He lets out his breath on a little laugh, looking up at Mark’s face. Mark looks radiant like this, and Brent wants to freeze in this moment forever. 

“Give me a year to prove you can trust me, okay?” Brent asks, cupping his cheek. 

Mark’s smile is brilliant. “I don’t need a year for that. I trust you. I love you.” He links their hands together between their bodies. “I...might lose sight of that every once and awhile, but I’m going to work on it.” 

“We have a lot to work on.” Brent blinks when he realizes that that idea doesn’t bring him any anxiety.

“Good thing we’ve always done great group work.” 

Laughing, Brent draws Mark down to the bed, already kissing him. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do they get their happily ever after?

Brent hooks his thumbs in his pants pockets, looking at his frozen pizza choices. Why is this always such a hard decision to make? Maybe something different, this time…

“Brent? Brent Henner?” 

Brent turns at the familiar voice, then smiles at Elisa Hernandez. “Hey! How are you? How’s the house?” 

Elisa grins. “Just as much mine as ever. I keep meaning to get back to an advisory meeting, but my schedule got crazy, and...you know how it is.” 

“Yeah, of course. We’ll welcome you anytime. I heard you got that promotion at the bank, congratulations.” 

“I’ll never get over how news travels in a small town.” Elisa laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “But thank you.” 

An arm slips around his waist; he knows without looking down that it’s Mark who’s snuggling up against his side. No one fits there quite like Mark, after all. “Elisa, I’m not sure if you’ve met my husband, Mark?” He makes sure to wrap his arm around Mark, too, pulling him more closely and leaning down to press a kiss on his forehead. 

It looks like Mark doesn’t need reassurance, though. He’s smiling confidently, not looking threatened at all as he holds out his hand. “So good to meet you.” 

“You guys up to something fun tonight?” Elisa asks, pointing at the bottle of rosé Mark’s holding. 

“It’s our one-year anniversary, but we’re staying in.”

“Getting a little trashed on wine and pizza, like the old, married couple we are,” Mark says with a laugh. 

“Oh, wow, congratulations! I’ll leave you guys to it. Hey, Brent, I’ll try to be at the next meeting.” With a smile and a wave, Elisa walks away. 

Mark goes up on his tiptoes to brush a kiss over Brent’s lips. “I can hear you worrying from here and I’m _fine.”_

“Yes, you are.” Brent sweeps his hand over Mark’s back, then down to cup his ass and give it a quick squeeze. The move makes Mark snort, and blush, so mission accomplished there. “Help me pick a pizza.” 

“Something simple.” Mark doesn’t hesitate, reaching into the freezer to pull out a margherita pizza and sweeping aside all of Brent's SAD-fueled indecision. 

It's such a relief to have Mark here, in the darkest part of the year, to make things just a little easier for him. “Perfect.” 

They travel all the way back to the mansion avoiding the elephant in the room, talking about anything and everything that isn’t their one-year deadline, even though Brent’s ninety-nine percent sure how that conversation is going to go. It’s that last one percent that has his stomach leaping with nerves. 

It’s cold out, of course - one of Mark’s biggest complaints lately has been having to celebrate their anniversary in the dead of winter - so they set up a picnic in the living room. Nana’s in Portland with Reenie which means they have the house to themselves.

“I still say we should have a nice July renewal of vows and then just change the date of our anniversary,” Mark comments as he hands off the hot pizza and slides down to his knees to join Brent on the floor. 

Brent laughs, pouring two glasses - his smaller, due to his meds - of the wine. “I’m not opposed,” he answers softly.

Mark’s eyes are bright when they meet his. “Yeah?” 

And so they’ve come to it, the conversation they promised each other they’d have in a year. “Yeah.” And because that doesn’t seem like enough, Brent has to continue. “I’m...still scared about you leaving me, but I’ve come around to thinking that there are two ways to use that fear: either as an excuse to walk away from this, or as the reason to keep fighting for it. For us. I want to keep fighting for us.” 

_“Honey.”_ Mark scoots closer so he can kiss Brent, and the cracked-apart feeling Brent always gets from talking about this type of thing starts to heal over again. “I love you so much. And I trust you, and...I want to keep fighting, too. We were always pretty good at that, fighting for each other.” 

His fingers brush over Brent’s cheek, where Brent had once carried a bruise he’d gotten from protecting Mark, so long ago. “So, another year?” 

“I was thinking we could up the ante a little bit.” Mark smiles at him. “How about two years?” 

Feeling a bone-deep contentment, Brent arches his brow. “I’ll see your two, and raise you three.” 

Mark sits up a little straighter. “Five,” he replies, his eyes intent.

“Seven.” 

“Ten.” 

“How about all in?” 

“Yeah?”

A year ago, Brent wouldn’t have been able to agree, but it’s much easier now. “Yeah. All in.” 

Mark raises his pinky, and Brent doesn’t hesitate at grabbing it with his own and shaking. “All in.” 

They do, as promised, get a little trashed on pizza and wine, but mostly on feelings, and it doesn’t take long for Mark to start plying Brent with kisses and coaxing him upstairs to their bedroom. To _their_ bed. 

“Look at you,” Mark breathes out, tracing his fingers over Brent’s chest after they’ve tumbled into bed together half-naked. He brushes across Brent’s nipple, making Brent drag in a shuddery breath. 

It still amazes Brent how it’s so _good_ every time. It’s good when Mark pushes him up against the tiled wall during their morning shower, their dicks in his hand, and they drive each other over the cliff as fast as possible. It’s good when all they’re feeling like is a lazy handy, and it’s good when Brent gets on his knees for Mark and blows him until he shouts. It’s _good,_ and it’s good now, going slow and sweet, making love, he can rightly call it. 

It’s good because he knows the thread now, the connecting piece stringing everything together and making it good. It’s Mark, always Mark, always has been Mark for him. Whatever else he hasn’t really figured out yet about his own sexuality, he knows it’s Mark. 

“I know, honey, I know,” Mark murmurs, kissing him sweetly, and Brent realizes belatedly that he’d been saying that aloud. 

Mark presses kisses to the column of his throat, over his pulse point where his heart is beating wildly. His hand is resting lightly on Brent’s stomach, making Brent feel loved, covered, surrounded by this man. 

“Mmm, just like that, get all nice and relaxed for me, Brent.” Mark’s voice is soft and sweet and Brent can’t help but obey, closing his eyes and trying to just feel. Every bit of his skin feels sensitive, and he knows his nipples are peaked. Slowly, Mark’s hand slides down his stomach, leaving Brent’s skin tingling in its wake. He strokes the hard column of Brent’s cock through his pants, and Brent groans, thrusting up into his hand. 

The low chuckle Mark gives makes Brent shiver. 

“We should get more comfortable.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay-” Brent manages, still on edge because Mark hasn’t let up the pressure on his dick. He doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to get rid of the rest of his clothing-

But even with limbs clumsy from want, Mark gets them both naked. He loves when Mark gets like this, all take-charge. He’d be weak in the knees...if he were standing. 

Mark’s fingers and lips continue to work their way down his body. When he reaches Brent’s stomach, Brent flexes automatically, shying away from the tickling sensation that puts a wicked smile on Mark’s face. Mark’s tongue flicks out, teasing and tasting the skin in the crease between leg and torso. Brent twitches, his cock jumping, and that leads Mark there, kissing up the shaft before taking the head between his lips and whorling his tongue. 

It’s not the first time they haven’t used a condom this last year, but it’s been a recent development. Brent had been happy to continue to do whatever Mark needed for him to feel safe, but a few months ago, when they’d received their results in the mail with no surprises yet again, Mark had continued to look at the papers until Brent prompted him with a quiet, “What’s up?”

“I...don’t think I need you to do this for me anymore.” 

Brent’s stomach had flipped over, and he’d put his arm around Mark’s waist and given him a side-hug. “Are you sure?” 

Mark had chewed his lip. “I reserve the right to change my mind? But yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” He’d leaned up to kiss Brent. “Sure about you.” 

Now, they both reap the benefits of that trust as Mark hums over the taste of Brent’s precum and Brent gets to feel the wet heat of Mark’s mouth without a latex barrier. He will gladly advocate for safer sex the rest of his life, but he’s happy that Mark feels comfortable enough with him now for this. Not because of the pleasure it brings, but because it’s just breaking down another of the barriers they’d built for themselves coming into this marriage. 

Mark doesn’t linger on his cock, wetting him and then moving down the shaft to press kisses over his perineum and then directly over his hole. It makes Brent groan, letting his legs fall open wider to encourage Mark. Mark answers with another hum that vibrates his rim, and he shivers. Using his tongue, Mark proceeds to work his rim open enough to take the tip of his finger. 

They’ve only done this a handful of times, too, Brent bottoming, and Brent still has to will himself into relaxing. He loves it, yeah, he just has to get past a bit of a mental barrier first. It helps that Mark’s patient with him, slow even, as he stretches Brent open with tongue and fingers. Pleasure builds in Brent’s stomach, his hand coming to Mark’s hair to keep him pressed there. Mark groans against his hole, making it thrum with waves of bliss. Eventually Mark sits up, grabbing the lube, and uses that to help ease two fingers inside. An expert on his body now, Mark flicks over his prostate and Brent trembles, swamped with desire. 

“There we are.” Mark grins, pressing over Brent’s prostate again and again to watch him squirm. 

“I need you to get in me,” Brent gasps, fingers tugging at Mark’s short hair. “Come on.” 

“Bossy,” Mark teases, his voice just on the edge of laughter. “Don’t worry, honey, we’re getting there. Just have to make sure you’re ready first.” 

The burn of the third finger tells him that Mark’s judgement is correct, but it doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. His body is on fire, his cock leaking against his belly, and he wants Mark _now._ Mark just chuckles when he moans this out, though. 

Finally, _finally,_ Mark’s stroking lube over his own cock and pressing the head against Brent’s entrance. Brent keeps his breathing as steady as he can when he’s this worked up, trying to relax as Mark’s cock slowly opens him up. 

The first time they’d done this, Brent had been completely overwhelmed with feelings. It’s not that much different now, and tears come to Brent’s eyes when Mark’s fully seated inside him, using his arms to brace himself above Brent’s body. Mark frowns, using his thumb to brush at the moisture under Brent’s eye. “Hey, you’re okay, Brent. It’s okay. I’m not going to move.” 

Brent makes a strangled noise of pure frustration. “No, no, you _have_ to move. I need you to- fuck me.” 

Mark’s eyes widen, his hips rocking seemingly unbidden. “Shut the front door, someone write to the advisory board, Brent Henner just cussed and needs to be declared unfit for duty.” 

And somehow, despite how close his emotions are to the surface considering the anniversary they’re celebrating and the decision they’d made earlier, Brent gives a watery laugh. He shakes his head, making a fist of his fingers Mark’s hair, which makes Mark groan with need. “You going to do it, or what?” 

Mark smiles like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Do what?” he asks innocently. 

Flushed, more than a little turned on, and frustrated, Brent tries to move his hips, to make Mark fuck him, but Mark’s basically got him pinned. Mark leans down, biting at his earlobe. “I want to hear you say what you want one more time. Just once, that’s okay. Unless you can’t.” 

“Fuck me,” Brent whispers. “Fuck me, please-” 

He cuts off his plea when Mark starts to slowly pull out, then thrust in again. He sets a slow, mind-numbing rhythm that makes Brent want to scream. Instead, he wraps his arms around Mark and holds him closely. 

“I think I’d rather make love to my husband,” Mark says on a thrust back in that nails Brent’s prostate. 

The move and Mark’s words make Brent groan. “That’s- that’s good too,” he gasps. 

There aren’t many words after that, just the sounds Mark is punching out of him, the grunts Mark’s making himself. He hooks one of his legs around Mark’s hip, holding him in, using it as leverage to meet his thrusts. Connected as one, Brent feels swamped with love and desire. 

“I’m gonna come,” Mark groans, burying his face in Brent’s neck and pounding into him. Somehow, he has the wherewithal to move his hand down to Brent’s dick and stroke him so they can come together. With a sound muffled by Mark’s mouth, Brent comes all over his stomach. 

In the sweaty aftermath, their chests still heaving, Brent finds he can’t quite stop touching Mark even though he’s worn out. He keeps pressing kisses to Mark’s cheek, rubbing his foot over Mark’s calf, tracing circles across Mark’s back. 

“I love you, too,” Mark mumbles against his neck, and it’s Brent’s turn to chuckle. 

After a few more moments, Mark sighs, then pulls out and heads to the bathroom to get them a towel to clean up. “Think the pizza’s still good?” he says a few moments later as he lovingly wipes the mess away from Brent’s body. 

“Cold pizza? Of course it’s still good.” 

“Picnic in bed?”

Brent grins. “Can’t think of a better way to spend our anniversary.” 

He’s laughing as they help each other down the stairs, still sex-drunk, the warmth of the golden ring on his finger pressing into Mark’s palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course they get their happily ever after. ;)
> 
> Stay tuned for one last chapter, the epilogue, on Tuesday, and look for my new Kinktober/Nanowrimo crossover fic, Alpha in Training.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Mark hums to himself as he walks through the house, getting it ready for the reception, ignoring the bustle outside. The smell of fresh paint is still lingering, and Mark has already found a few spots of construction dust in the windowsills that he’s had to wipe up. He’s proud of this space, the newly-built house, more accessible to Nana, and less huge and impersonal than the old Henner mansion. They’d built it on the footprint of the other, and Mark likes to think that when they’d cleared away the demolition wreckage of the mansion, they’d managed to exorcise Brent Sr.’s ghost, too. 

Still, maybe they shouldn’t have made a double event out of their first house party here with their vow renewal. Maybe it’s too much pressure, trying to get everything ready. 

He pauses in the entranceway, lingering over the large framed photo centered on the wall. It’s a new piece, framed especially for this wall, from a professional family photo shoot they’d done a few months back. Back when winter had still been clinging, the trees in the background leafless and brown. He can see the cold on their rosy cheeks, but they’re all smiling, their little girl Sage between Mark and Brent, swinging on the hammock out back. It’s Mark’s favorite addition to the new house. 

“Mark! I can’t find the shoes you guys got me.” Sage speeds around the corner and almost plows into him, and he reaches out to steady the ten-year-old, smiling. 

“I think I saw them under your bed, where you stuffed everything else you were trying to hide from the guests rather than cleaning.” 

“Right. You saw that, huh?” She waits for his reaction, still wary of them, of her situation, still worried that one bad move too many will get her sent back.

“I mean, why did they even make beds with space under them, and convenient little hanging bedspread thingies, if they weren’t expecting us to shove stuff under there? C’mon, kiddo, let’s go look.” 

Some of the worry slips away, and she nods. Mark turns to go to her room, but she pauses in front of the framed picture, too. “It looks good there,” she murmurs. 

Mark watches her eyes linger on herself, wedged between her adoptive fathers. “It really does.” He leans over to press a kiss to the top of her head before following her to her room.

In typical fashion, he and Brent had stumbled into parenthood almost as quickly as they’d gotten married. They’d talked about it carefully, of course, but when the agency had learned they’d been willing to take an older child who was HIV positive, they’d gotten a call almost as soon as they’d filled out the paperwork. 

“Oh hey, there they are,” she says, her voice muffled because her head is still peeking under the bed. Her tone is sheepish, though, and Mark laughs a little. 

“See? Perfect storage spot. Just don’t let Nana Patty see it.” He moves away from the bed, smiling to himself. “I’m going to finish getting ready. See you outside in thirty, kiddo?”

She smiles up at him from her spot on the floor. “You nervous?” 

“Nope,” Mark replies easily. “You’re going to be a great best girl.” 

Sage snorts. “Not what I meant, but okay, Mark.” 

He rolls his eyes at her sarcastic tone; honestly, she’s only ten, how does she already have the sass of a sixteen year old? Luckily, she doesn’t seem to require an answer, so he heads back to the master suite to put the finishing touches on his outfit. 

He starts when he finds Brent sitting on the bed, looking out the window at the chaos of ceremony preparations beyond. It seems that he got halfway through putting on his dress shoes before being distracted by something, so Mark makes his footsteps heavier as he comes up. “Everything okay?” 

Brent blinks, refocusing, and smiles up at him. It’s endearing enough that Mark has to reach out and brush his fingers through the hair that’s going more salt and pepper every day. His husband is aging with distinction, it seems. 

“Everything’s pretty great, actually,” Brent murmurs, pulling Mark down into his lap. 

“We’ll get wrinkles in our pants.” But Mark lets himself be pulled into a kiss anyway. After five years, it’s no less thrilling than the first.

“A very small price to pay.” Brent’s hand comes up to cup his face. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you, too.” He indulges himself with one more kiss before he pulls back. “I need to get my tie on, and fix my hair.” 

“Yeah, you look like crap,” Brent jokes.

“Thanks, hubs.” He stands, pulling Brent up with him and reaching back to slap his ass lightly. “Come on now, get moving.” 

Brent’s eyes twinkle. “None of that if you’re not willing to follow up, Mark.” 

And just like that, blood rushes south. Mark shakes his head. “That’s for later tonight, honey. And that’s a promise.” 

Brent shivers and nods, a blush spreading beautifully over his cheeks. “See you soon.” 

Brent’s already at the end of the aisle, Sage standing by him holding a bouquet of flowers she’d picked out herself. Mark’s heart speeds up as he sees Brent there, his husband for a handful of years, the love of his life, his best friend and partner in crime for a lifetime. 

The day’s perfect, with a blue sky and puffy white clouds and a soft breeze rustling the summer leaves. The backyard is still a mess from construction, but they’ve done their best to cover up the worst of it, and the wrought iron arch wound in flowers and twinkle lights is doing what it can to distract everyone. 

It’s technically their half-anniversary, six months to the day, because Brent likes to indulge him silly things like this. As he walks his mom and Nana down the aisle, he can’t help but beam. It’s a world away from that courthouse ceremony five and a half years ago, in the bleakness of winter, a contract negotiation. Still, Mark will forever remember that day. It’s the first day he thought his dream just might come true. 

As they work their way through their vows, Mark’s voice stays steady, his mind clear, his heart wide open. He can be all of those things because he knows Brent will be here to protect him, just like he’ll make sure Brent never lets loneliness overwhelm him again. 

Reenie, their officiant, smiles at them as she goes through the ceremony. Honestly, even though Mark had planned it out with Brent, he barely pays attention, preferring to look up into Brent’s eyes. Eventually, though, Reenie finally says, “Mark and Brent, please take hands.” 

Mark smiles as he takes Brent’s hands. They’re not exchanging rings again, but he can feel Brent’s, warm on his ring finger. 

“Do you promise to continue to love and cherish your husband, to work together to create a loving home for your daughter, to build each other up, every day?” 

“I do,” they both murmur, eyes only for each other. 

“Well, since you’re already legally married, I’ll just say, now you can kiss!” 

The small crowd laughs, but Mark doesn’t notice. He’s already wrapped in the arms of the man he loves, the man he can trust with his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to check out my new work, Alpha in Training.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Epilogue
> 
> Note: This introduces kink play between Mark (the dom) and Brent (the sub). If you've read my other work you might have noticed that I quite enjoy writing kink, but I left it mostly out of this story because I was trying to get it published. Well, now that it's up on ao3, I can lean in a little harder to the kink (if you go back to their sex scenes, you can see that this is *not* coming out of left field, here. Brent's been a little subby since I first started writing, it was really hard to resist). 
> 
> However, because it's not the whole fic, but just this chapter, I'm not going to tag the whole fic with kink tags. So: 
> 
> Tags: Seasonal Depression, Family Argument (resolved), Kink, Dom/sub, prenegotiated kink.

"Yeah, well...I don't care!" Sage yells, her preteen face stormy with emotion right before she slams her bedroom door in Brent's face. 

Brent sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face, the bone-deep tiredness February always brings him weighing his body down so that he slumps against the hallway wall opposite her door. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's going on out here?"

Brent looks up to see Mark padding down the hallway from his home office. He hugs himself the way he wishes Mark would wrap his arms around him, but knows he doesn't deserve it. "I was supposed to sign the paper so she could watch a movie in class, but I forgot to before I left today, and so they made her go to the office while the rest of the class had fun. She is, understandably, mad at me." 

Mark looks up at him, and Brent braces himself for his husband's disappointment. Except it's worse, maybe - acceptance. Sometimes Brent hates how accepting of his mistakes Mark is.

"Christ, I can see you beating yourself up from here." Mark steps up against his body, reaching up to cup his face. "Why don't you go for a run, lose yourself for a little bit? I'm going to give Sage a little time, and then I'll talk to her about it. Try not to dig yourself into a hole out there on your run, okay? You messed up, sure, but just a tiny bit, her life isn't ruined, everything is going to be fine." 

"I can't-" Brent lets his eyes close, taking a deep breath. "You know why I forgot." 

He'd had trouble getting out of bed this morning. February is just so...tiring. Everything, every day of existence, every little thing he has to do. Some days it’s just the reminder that he has a business to run and Reenie relying on him as an employee that gets him to the office on time. But he’d had trouble this morning, and forgotten to sign the paper on the counter before he’d left. He’d been solo this morning, too, because Mark had woken up really early to drive Nana to the airport for her trip to San Diego. 

“I know,” Mark replies simply. His tone isn’t judgemental, nor is it conciliatory, or resigned, or overly sympathetic. It just...is. Like he’s just dealing with Brent’s seasonal depression the way he deals with his own HIV positive status, without anxiety, one day at a time. 

“I don’t deserve you.” Brent rests his forehead briefly on Mark’s, his body bowing towards his husband’s. Some days, he wishes he was shorter, so he could nestle into Mark’s body, be surrounded by Mark. 

Mark’s fingers brush through his hair, and he presses the briefest yet most comforting of kisses across his lips. “You do. Go take your run, clear your mind. I’ll talk with Sage, we’ll have some dinner, and later, when Sage is asleep, we’ll do a little work to help you feel better, okay?” 

His heart gives a little thump at ‘work’, and what that means for them. A bright spot to look forward to suddenly opens up in his day. “I’ll be back in time to help with dinner.” 

Mark pulls back, grinning up at him. As Brent starts to walk toward their bedroom to get changed into running gear, he feels Mark’s hand swat at his ass. “Go get ‘em, champ.” 

It makes him laugh, his spirits lifting a little. 

Mark gives Sage a good twenty minutes to get through the worst of the emotions before he gives a little knock on her door. “Hey, sweetheart, can I come in?” 

Sage doesn’t keep him waiting long, though she’s not exactly eager to see him when she slides her door open. She drags her feet back to the bed and curls up against her pillows, her blanket over her legs, her tablet in her lap, the absolute picture of teenage angst. 

“I heard about the movie. Was that embarrassing, not getting to watch with the class?”

Silence, and then the tiniest of nods. 

_I’m so glad I’m not a teenager - pre-teen - anymore._ “That’s really rough. I emailed your teacher and explained what happened, so you should be able to watch tomorrow.” 

“Thanks,” she mumbles, eyes on her tablet even though she’s not engaging with anything on it. 

“I’m sorry that happened, and I know Brent is, too.” 

“I know, I just- I was just really angry, earlier.” 

“Yeah, sweetie, that’s understandable.”

“He’s-” Sage goes silent, setting her tablet aside and hugging her knees. “I don’t like it when he’s like this.” 

Mark reaches out, patting her blanket-covered knee in solidarity. It had taken Sage a long time in the last two years since they’d finalized the adoption to talk about the circumstances that left her in foster care, and then with them. Parents who ‘check out’ and ignore her are especially triggering for Sage. It makes Brent’s seasonal depression even harder to navigate, and for whatever reason, this year has been especially rough for Brent, and therefore everyone else. 

The hardest part is that it’s no one’s fault, and when things are shitty, it’s much easier to land the blame somewhere. Without a scapegoat, everyone gets frustrated. 

What Mark has learned is that it’s all about being able to channel that frustration. 

“I know it’s really satisfying to yell when you’re embarrassed and frustrated, but can you think of another way you could have handled that?” Mark settles more comfortably in the bed, folding his legs and leaning against the bedroom wall. 

It’s a rocky conversation, but it’s a start, anyway. 

Thirty minutes later, and the three of them are standing awkwardly in the kitchen looking at each other. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I feel like tonight calls for comfort food. How about grilled cheese and tomato soup?” Mark says, moving toward the fridge. 

“Tomatoes are gross.” But Sage gives Mark and Brent a small smile, then nudges Brent with her shoulder. She barely comes up to _his_ shoulder, so she’s really leaning into his stomach, but it’s still a small, nice concession. 

“Chicken soup?” Brent asks, running a hand over her shoulders, then pulling her in for a hug.

“Yeah, that.” 

Mark smiles as he gets ingredients out of the fridge. It’s not some big moment of forgiveness, but it’s also exactly what everyone needs. More emphasis on his mistake would make Brent feel worse, and Sage truly just needs a hug. 

They’re making it. They’re going to be okay. Mark lets himself take a calming breath. “Oo, let’s get fancy schmancy up in this B, I’ve got Gruyere still.” 

Sage rolls her eyes at him - bless her - but Brent laughs as he gets the pans out, and just like that, they roll through their family dinner. 

Sage has been in her bedroom for about an hour when Mark gets up from where they’ve been cuddling on the couch, scrolling through their phones. He's gone for a moment, then comes back and stands above Brent. Brent’s heart gives a quick double thump as he gives his husband his attention. 

“She’s asleep, so we’re clear. Color?” Mark slides his hand into Brent’s hair, and Brent almost arches up into the touch, craving more. 

“Green.” 

“Sex, or no?” 

Depression sometimes kills Brent’s libido, though not his desire to delve into kink. “Yes, please.” 

“So polite.” Mark’s fingers tighten, pulling at Brent’s hair and making him groan. “Go to our bedroom, get undressed, and kneel for me, honey. I’ll be right there to make sure you’ve done a good job.” 

Brent hurries to comply, handing his phone over to Mark, who he knows will set it up in the charger before they start playing. 

Their kink play has evolved over time, and it’s definitely something they do more of in the winter. Almost like Mark saves up his best scene ideas for when he knows Brent needs it the most. It’s almost a special treat, this way. 

In the bedroom, he tosses his clothes into the hamper - he’ll have to take care of laundry tomorrow, he thinks with a heavy sigh. Laundry is _the worst._ He has to deliberately move his thoughts away from that and toward their upcoming scene. 

He pulls his kneeling pillow out from under the bed and folds his long limbs down onto it, resting comfortably on his knees. He goes through the same routine he does to run, breathing in through his nose and relaxing his shoulders away from his ears. He’s blowing the breath out through his mouth when Mark walks in, shutting the door behind himself and locking it. 

“Gorgeous.” 

Brent looks up, watching Mark cross the room to him, and he agrees - _Mark_ is gorgeous. He’s barefoot, his toes sinking into the carpeting - and cough cough, subtle soundproofing - of their room. He’s wearing skinny jeans that hug his legs, a loose t-shirt, and a flannel, and he looks like Brent’s Northwest hipster artist dreamboat come to life. 

“God, that look in your eyes. You keep praising me like that, you know how big my head is going to get?” 

“I know how big I _want_ it to get,” Brent snarks while staring right at the bulge in Mark’s jeans, feeling more himself than he has all month. Like running, therapy, his happy light, meds, and Mark, kink is one of his coping methods. It won’t ever cure his depression, nothing will, but it can at least make it a little brighter in the dreariest of months. 

Mark smirks, sliding his fingers into Brent’s hair again and pressing Brent’s face into his crotch. “Need something to fill that mouth, Jesus. Giving me lip all the fucking time.” 

Brent whimpers, mouthing over the column of Mark’s cock, straining against the fabric of Mark’s jeans. 

“‘Sides, you being this mouthy means you aren’t nearly where I need you to be yet. What’s it going to take to make you lose all your words, do you think?” Mark lowers his fly, and Brent wants to groan when he sees Mark’s going commando, but he doesn’t get a chance before Mark’s feeding him his cock, stuffing it inside his mouth. Brent has no choice but to suck and lick over Mark’s cock, not that he wants a choice. He wants Mark to tell him what to do. 

When Mark tells him what to do, there’s so much less chance he’s going to screw it all up. 

“There you go, honey. God, what a good little cocksucker you are, and all for me. Only my cock gets you this hot. Gagging for it, look at you.” 

Brent does groan this time as Mark continues to use his hair to move his head, to use Brent as a convenient hot hole he can fuck into. The taste and smell of Mark fill him, overwhelming the rest of his senses. Mark pulls almost all the way out, so Brent’s sucking just at the tip, and when he runs his tongue over Mark’s slit, Mark groans, pulling out completely. A line of spit connects Brent’s lips to Mark’s cock; it makes Brent’s own cock weep precum against his stomach. 

“On the bed. Face up, I’m going to ride that cock until I come all over you.” 

Brent scrambles to comply, then watches, breathless, as Mark straps his wrists and ankles to the bed frame. The cuffs are a soft, well worn black leather, meant more to comfort and surround Brent than restrain him. Still he is, undeniably, at Mark’s mercy.

And Mark, well. He’s always been a tease. 

It doesn’t take him long to strip his own clothes away, but when Brent’s expecting him to just stretch himself and sit right down on his cock, Mark defies expectations, straddling Brent’s chest, cupping his cheeks, and pulling him up to his elbows for a long, sweet kiss. 

Brent’s core muscles strain to hold him up, a different challenge that burns in the sweetest way. Mark always knows how to test Brent’s physical limits. When he finally lets Brent back down, tearing their mouths apart, Brent’s shaking, though not really from muscle use. 

“I’ve got you, honey,” Mark murmurs, brushing over his face and through his hair. “You’re so good for us. A great husband, and father, even with your flaws. I love you, so completely and thoroughly, all of you, this part of you, too. I love all of you.” 

Some emotion - more emotion than he’s felt in weeks - crests and breaks in Brent’s chest, and he lets out a little half-laugh, half-sob, arching up again to beg silently for Mark’s kiss. Mark obliges him, pushing him down so that they can be comfortable as they make out. Though he’d love to wrap his arms around Mark’s body, he loves that he’s restrained so that Mark wraps around him instead. God, he loves being little spoon. 

“Gonna use your cock now, honey. Going to use you to make myself feel good.” 

“Please-” Brent’s breath quickens as he watches Mark get a pump of lube from the bedside table. 

Mark leans forward, going onto his knees, balancing one hand on Brent’s chest as he reaches back and starts to open himself up. And Brent can only watch, helpless and wanting, exactly how Mark wanted him, too turned on to speak as he watches Mark’s face twitch with want. Mark’s next pump of lube goes to Brent’s cock, making the slide of his hand easy; Brent meets Mark’s eyes, intent, and chases his hand with his hips, chases the sensation. 

“Ah-ah, hun. Save it for fucking me. I want you to give me the ride of my life. Make it so-” Mark pauses, letting out a breath as he maneuvers Brent’s cock into place and sits down on it, enveloping Brent completely in his tight heat. “So fucking good. Ah, God.” 

Mark steadies both hands on Brent’s chest and works his ass around Brent’s cock so well it makes Brent want to roll his eyes to the back of his head with pleasure. But he can’t take them off Mark’s body, off Mark’s hooded, pleasure-filled eyes. 

“Fuck, your cock is so good. Fu-uck.” He rolls his hips as Brent fucks up, then repeats it so that Brent knows he’s grinding on his prostate. “Oh fuck, Brent, honey-” 

Mark bounces, fucking himself on Brent’s cock, completely taking his own pleasure, which is exactly what Brent needs. He needs Mark to please himself with Brent’s body. He needs to provide _joy_ for Mark when he knows, he knows that living with him during these months is so dang difficult. He grinds up and tries his best to bring his husband, his lover, his dom, to peak. 

Mark’s fingers scrabble against Brent’s chest, scratching lightly through his hair as he grinds down again, then stiffens, his cock shooting all over Brent’s chest. He squeezes down on Brent’s cock as he comes, and that sets Brent off, shutting his eyes as he explodes and multicolored waves of light dance behind his eyelids. 

Mark collapses down to his chest, and Brent whimpers, wanting to wrap his arms around Mark’s body now. “One sec, Brent. Fuck.” With a groan, he reaches over, popping open the arm restraints and cuddling into Brent’s embrace. 

When they’re all cleaned up later, and snuggled into pajamas, Mark makes Brent little spoon, his leg thrown over Brent’s hip, his hand rubbing over Brent’s stomach as they settle into sleep. “Thank you,” Brent whispers, his voice gravelly. “Love you.” 

“Goodnight. Love you.” Mark presses a kiss to his cheek, and all is right with Brent’s world. 

Maybe tomorrow when he wakes up, the sun will be a little brighter, and maybe it won’t. The important thing is that Brent’s going to be there to see it, no matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thank you for taking a chance on an original work. 
> 
> Also, please check out [my blog ](https://mhabbott.tumblr.com/) for more info about my other original works. If you feel like having a one-on-one conversation, drop me a line at authormhabbott@gmail.com!


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